 | Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) |  |
I. Part I. By His Brother.
Multis ille flebilis occidit,
Nalli flebilior quam tibi, Mitcheli.
Hor. lib. 1. Od. 24.
Nalli flebilior quam tibi, Mitcheli.
Hor. lib. 1. Od. 24.
To Mr. Joseph Mitchell,
On his POEMS Occasioned by the Death of his Brother and Friend.
The Muse that taught your better Muse to sing,
And soar advent'rous on a steady Wing,
Himself confesses on the Occasion proud,
To pay this Homage with th' inspired Croud,
To thee, young Friend, his Ornament and Praise,
Whom Art and Nature have combin'd to raise.
As prudent Parents oft their Love conceal,
To their dear Children whom they see excel,
Yet, with true Pleasure, hear their real Worth
By other Men impartially set forth;
So I the Beauties of your early Song
Have inly priz'd, but yet conceal'd it long:
No more I'll smother my transporting Flame,
But vouch my Love, and your Desert proclaim.
And soar advent'rous on a steady Wing,
Himself confesses on the Occasion proud,
To pay this Homage with th' inspired Croud,
To thee, young Friend, his Ornament and Praise,
Whom Art and Nature have combin'd to raise.
As prudent Parents oft their Love conceal,
To their dear Children whom they see excel,
Yet, with true Pleasure, hear their real Worth
By other Men impartially set forth;
So I the Beauties of your early Song
Have inly priz'd, but yet conceal'd it long:
But vouch my Love, and your Desert proclaim.
Since first you sung on Ratho's pleasing Plains,
The honest Passions of the simple Swains,
(A charming Toil, and worthy of a Boy,
His tender Muse, like Maro, to employ!)
Well have you try'd in more exalted Lays,
On higher Subjects to record your Praise.
How am I ravish'd, when I read the Verse,
In which Heav'ns sacred Matters you rehearse?
Despising mortal Criticks idle Rules,
You seem to rival the celestial Souls,
Who aid the Triumphs of immortal Joy,
With Hymns of Praises that can never cloy.
Unlike the Heathen Writers of the Age,
Religion is the Glory of your Page:
The Muses to their proper Ends you aim,
And shew from whence your Inspiration came.
The honest Passions of the simple Swains,
(A charming Toil, and worthy of a Boy,
His tender Muse, like Maro, to employ!)
Well have you try'd in more exalted Lays,
On higher Subjects to record your Praise.
How am I ravish'd, when I read the Verse,
In which Heav'ns sacred Matters you rehearse?
Despising mortal Criticks idle Rules,
You seem to rival the celestial Souls,
Who aid the Triumphs of immortal Joy,
With Hymns of Praises that can never cloy.
Unlike the Heathen Writers of the Age,
Religion is the Glory of your Page:
The Muses to their proper Ends you aim,
And shew from whence your Inspiration came.
If from more serious Labour you unbend
Your busy Thoughts to entertain your Friend,
Such Wit and Judgment in your Letters shine,
Such Ease and Strength are joyn'd in ev'ry Line,
That we, who know you best, can hardly tell,
(Tho' in each Way of Writing you do well,)
Where lies your Talent, wherein you excell.
Your busy Thoughts to entertain your Friend,
Such Wit and Judgment in your Letters shine,
Such Ease and Strength are joyn'd in ev'ry Line,
(Tho' in each Way of Writing you do well,)
Where lies your Talent, wherein you excell.
Yet were your Genius by my Judgment sway'd,
Your fam'd Translation should not be delay'd.
Too long great Cambray, English'd by his Foes,
Hath slept and suffer'd in disdainful Prose.
Already you (if Versions can revive,
And make the Spirit of an Author live,)
With good Success, advent'rous have begun—
We wait with Pain to see the Labour done,
Where Judgment ripen'd in each Line appears,
And all the Fire peculiar to your Years.
Your fam'd Translation should not be delay'd.
Too long great Cambray, English'd by his Foes,
Hath slept and suffer'd in disdainful Prose.
Already you (if Versions can revive,
And make the Spirit of an Author live,)
With good Success, advent'rous have begun—
We wait with Pain to see the Labour done,
Where Judgment ripen'd in each Line appears,
And all the Fire peculiar to your Years.
But ah! my Friend, too much I cannot blame
Your Negligence, and slow Essays for Fame:
Your Muse of late, afflicted as your Mind,
By losing both a Brother and a Friend;
Deep plung'd in Grief, all other Subjects scorn'd,
'Till first his Urn was gratefully adorn'd.
O happy Youth, possess'd of Bliss above,
And here on Earth preserv'd alive by Love!
Ne'er did I know two Brothers more endear'd!
Such Monuments unto a Friendship rear'd!
Yet be advis'd, nor vent your Sorrows more:
The blessed Shade forbids you to deplore.
A private Loss has shar'd your Muse too long;
Your Country now demands a higher Song.
Tho' true it is, we by your Sorrows gain,
And call that Pleasure, which to you is Pain:
For 'midst your Grief your Lays appear divine,
And heavenly Beauties thro' your Sadness shine.
Your growing Muse, in her dejected State,
Looks lovely still, and undisguis'dly great.
Just so the sparkling Rays of Godhead shone
Thro' mourning Dress, and made Calypso known.
Your Negligence, and slow Essays for Fame:
Your Muse of late, afflicted as your Mind,
By losing both a Brother and a Friend;
Deep plung'd in Grief, all other Subjects scorn'd,
'Till first his Urn was gratefully adorn'd.
O happy Youth, possess'd of Bliss above,
And here on Earth preserv'd alive by Love!
Such Monuments unto a Friendship rear'd!
Yet be advis'd, nor vent your Sorrows more:
The blessed Shade forbids you to deplore.
A private Loss has shar'd your Muse too long;
Your Country now demands a higher Song.
Tho' true it is, we by your Sorrows gain,
And call that Pleasure, which to you is Pain:
For 'midst your Grief your Lays appear divine,
And heavenly Beauties thro' your Sadness shine.
Your growing Muse, in her dejected State,
Looks lovely still, and undisguis'dly great.
Just so the sparkling Rays of Godhead shone
Thro' mourning Dress, and made Calypso known.
The Freedom I on this Occasion use
My modest Friend should generously excuse.
You know my Heart is, like your own, sincere;
Nor need I be to you a Platterer.
These Lines but half my Heart's Desires express;
You merit more, nor cou'd my Love say less.
My modest Friend should generously excuse.
You know my Heart is, like your own, sincere;
Nor need I be to you a Platterer.
These Lines but half my Heart's Desires express;
You merit more, nor cou'd my Love say less.
R. Boyd.
To the Author of the First Part of the Lugubres Cantus.
Encomiums suit not these censorious Days,
When few bestow, and fewer merit Praise;
Our Bards condemn all Poems but their own,
And Criticks by their general Spite are known.
Envy and Satyr are the constant Fate
Of all new Authors, if they are not Great.
High Titles, Posts, Authority and Fame,
Make Poets shine, tho' worthless of a Name.
When Praise is yielded by the Tasteless Croud,
The Cry grows universal, as 'tis loud.
So partial, and so noisy People are,
That real Merit sculks obscure for Fear:
Scarce one peeps forth, e'er he is knocked down,
And groans beneath the Vengeance of the Town.
But most they are expos'd to publick Spite,
Who in a rude and sullen Country write.
Ungenerous Minds, with Prejudice possest,
Despise the Brave, and make their Works a Jest:
While others meanly reckon Nothing fine,
Can in a poor abandon'd Nation shine;
That foggy Air th' aspiring Genius checks,
And adverse Fate a noble Spirit breaks.
As if the Oak on Mountains could not rise,
And Palms oppress'd shoot faster to the Skies.
When few bestow, and fewer merit Praise;
Our Bards condemn all Poems but their own,
And Criticks by their general Spite are known.
Envy and Satyr are the constant Fate
Of all new Authors, if they are not Great.
High Titles, Posts, Authority and Fame,
Make Poets shine, tho' worthless of a Name.
When Praise is yielded by the Tasteless Croud,
The Cry grows universal, as 'tis loud.
So partial, and so noisy People are,
That real Merit sculks obscure for Fear:
Scarce one peeps forth, e'er he is knocked down,
And groans beneath the Vengeance of the Town.
But most they are expos'd to publick Spite,
Who in a rude and sullen Country write.
Despise the Brave, and make their Works a Jest:
While others meanly reckon Nothing fine,
Can in a poor abandon'd Nation shine;
That foggy Air th' aspiring Genius checks,
And adverse Fate a noble Spirit breaks.
As if the Oak on Mountains could not rise,
And Palms oppress'd shoot faster to the Skies.
You, Generous Youth, by Heav'n itself inspir'd,
Betimes display'd the noble Heat that fir'd
Your Mind to Action, while ten Thousand lay
Lazy as Owls that shun the Face of Day.
Like Tapers burning in a Sepulcher
Many alas! too many Scots-men are;
Useless to all Mankind they live, and die,
Without one Pile to save their Memory;
Proud of their modest Indolence and Shame,
They seem to scorn what their own Merits claim.
As govern'd by some fatal Providence,
They baffle Nature's Gifts of Wit and Sense.
Learning in vain on many is bestow'd,
Who differ nothing from the wretched Crowd.
May Heaven avert the Judgment they deserve,
Who thus, ungrateful, from its Statutes swerve,
And frustrate all the Purposes of Wit,
Or hinder those that wou'd improve themselves, and it!
Betimes display'd the noble Heat that fir'd
Your Mind to Action, while ten Thousand lay
Lazy as Owls that shun the Face of Day.
Like Tapers burning in a Sepulcher
Many alas! too many Scots-men are;
Useless to all Mankind they live, and die,
Without one Pile to save their Memory;
Proud of their modest Indolence and Shame,
They seem to scorn what their own Merits claim.
As govern'd by some fatal Providence,
They baffle Nature's Gifts of Wit and Sense.
Learning in vain on many is bestow'd,
Who differ nothing from the wretched Crowd.
Who thus, ungrateful, from its Statutes swerve,
And frustrate all the Purposes of Wit,
Or hinder those that wou'd improve themselves, and it!
In spite of Censure and Misfortune rise,
Dear Youth, your rugged Land to civilize;
The Muse's Cause, by worthy Strains defend,
And be no less a Poet than a Friend.
Dear Youth, your rugged Land to civilize;
The Muse's Cause, by worthy Strains defend,
And be no less a Poet than a Friend.
The mournful Labours you perform'd of late,
Without Design discover something great.
With Pleasure we peruse your noble Lines,
Where Art is hid, while moving Nature shines.
So just, so good, is every Sentiment,
So lively you the Passions represent,
That we must own the English Muse is yours,
With as much Right and Liberty as ours.
Let narrow Minds deny you this Applause,
I'll never censure, where there is no Cause:
Nor need you fear the Want of due Success,
Since the Athenians lead you to the Press.
Without Design discover something great.
With Pleasure we peruse your noble Lines,
Where Art is hid, while moving Nature shines.
So just, so good, is every Sentiment,
So lively you the Passions represent,
That we must own the English Muse is yours,
With as much Right and Liberty as ours.
Let narrow Minds deny you this Applause,
I'll never censure, where there is no Cause:
Nor need you fear the Want of due Success,
Since the Athenians lead you to the Press.
A. Philips.
To Mr. Mitchell.
Our Hopes and fond Endeavours now succeed,
Edina's Bards begin to raise their Head,
Avouch whate'er they please to write, and claim
What we must yield,—an equal Right to Fame.
Such Influence has GEORGE's happy Reign,
Fruit ripens best, when blest with Rays benign.
So when Augustus grac'd the Roman State;
True Learning flourish'd, and the Bards were great.
The Royal Favour rais'd the dead to Life,
And the whole Empire gain'd by brave and generous Strife.
Edina's Bards begin to raise their Head,
Avouch whate'er they please to write, and claim
What we must yield,—an equal Right to Fame.
Such Influence has GEORGE's happy Reign,
Fruit ripens best, when blest with Rays benign.
So when Augustus grac'd the Roman State;
True Learning flourish'd, and the Bards were great.
The Royal Favour rais'd the dead to Life,
And the whole Empire gain'd by brave and generous Strife.
Were I inspired by Panegyrick Verse,
Your Worth, dear Youth, I gladly should rehearse:
My hapless Muse can least his Praise proclaim,
Whose Merits most deserv'dly I esteem:
Your Works, where Nature and a Genius shine,
Declare you more than studied Lays of mine.
Your Worth, dear Youth, I gladly should rehearse:
My hapless Muse can least his Praise proclaim,
Whose Merits most deserv'dly I esteem:
Your Works, where Nature and a Genius shine,
Declare you more than studied Lays of mine.
E. Young.
To my ingenious Friend, Mr. MITCHELL,
On his Mournful Poems Occasion'd by his Brother's Death.
Hail heav'nly Muse! that with unbounded Fancy,
And Wit unknown to vulgar Bards, describes
The Charms of Friendship, and the cutting Pangs
Of Separation, which thy Soul has felt.
Souls great as thine can only court, and taste
Th' exalted Sweets of virtuous Love and Friendship.
Others perhaps may feel their Bosoms glow,
With that Affection which is natural,
To these whom chance at random join'd together.
A raging Fire to Womankind may burn
The Minds of others in a guilty Blaze;
But you, and such of a more noble Mould,
Count Life a Burthen, while you want a Friend
T'enhanse your Joys, to sooth your anxious Mind,
And sympathize in all your cutting Sorrows.
And Wit unknown to vulgar Bards, describes
The Charms of Friendship, and the cutting Pangs
Of Separation, which thy Soul has felt.
Souls great as thine can only court, and taste
Th' exalted Sweets of virtuous Love and Friendship.
Others perhaps may feel their Bosoms glow,
With that Affection which is natural,
To these whom chance at random join'd together.
A raging Fire to Womankind may burn
The Minds of others in a guilty Blaze;
Count Life a Burthen, while you want a Friend
T'enhanse your Joys, to sooth your anxious Mind,
And sympathize in all your cutting Sorrows.
In your young Brother lately rais'd to Heav'n,
You had a Friend by double Bonds made yours:
In you he liv'd, with yours his Soul was mixt,
As meeting Streams that flow promiscuous on.
The Road of Life you walked Hand in Hand;
One your Desires and your Aversions were:
Nought pleas'd the One, but what the other pleas'd.
Nor could Affliction seize you and not him:
Your Foes were his, and his were yours declar'd;
As if for one another you were born.
Now he by Death, relentless Death is seiz'd,
And from your Heart, where he was rooted well,
Torn with tormenting Violence away;
None but your self can the true Idea form
Of these smart Twinges which your Soul endures:
You only can your present Pangs declare,
And open all the dreadful Wound to view.
You had a Friend by double Bonds made yours:
In you he liv'd, with yours his Soul was mixt,
As meeting Streams that flow promiscuous on.
The Road of Life you walked Hand in Hand;
One your Desires and your Aversions were:
Nought pleas'd the One, but what the other pleas'd.
Nor could Affliction seize you and not him:
Your Foes were his, and his were yours declar'd;
As if for one another you were born.
Now he by Death, relentless Death is seiz'd,
And from your Heart, where he was rooted well,
Torn with tormenting Violence away;
None but your self can the true Idea form
Of these smart Twinges which your Soul endures:
You only can your present Pangs declare,
And open all the dreadful Wound to view.
'Tis done.—Your Muse in her immortal Strains
Has sung the Charms of former Friendship well,
And in true Light the present Rack you suffer
To our Amazement represented here.
Methinks I suffer with you as I read
Your Lines, where Nature speaks with moving Words.
So lively all your Passion is describ'd,
I seem to share it, and approve your Woe.
Strange is the Pow'r of an inspired Pen;
It conquers me in Spite of my Endeavours:
When, undesigning, you engage the Heart,
What Energy is in your artful Lays?
If in your Melancholy State you charm,
How beautiful and ravishing your Song,
Where Art with Nature gloriously conspires?
Has sung the Charms of former Friendship well,
And in true Light the present Rack you suffer
To our Amazement represented here.
Methinks I suffer with you as I read
Your Lines, where Nature speaks with moving Words.
So lively all your Passion is describ'd,
I seem to share it, and approve your Woe.
Strange is the Pow'r of an inspired Pen;
It conquers me in Spite of my Endeavours:
When, undesigning, you engage the Heart,
What Energy is in your artful Lays?
If in your Melancholy State you charm,
How beautiful and ravishing your Song,
Where Art with Nature gloriously conspires?
J. W.
1
Verses spoken Extempore,
At Receiving the News of my Brother's Death, Jan. 5. 1719.
Ah killing News! my Friend and Brother dead!Ye guardian Angels lend a present Aid,
Or, with my Joys, my Spirits soon shall go,
So great's my Loss, and so intense my Woe.
2
And that for good their sparing was design'd:
But now 'tis plain they lengthen'd out my Bliss,
At last to plunge me in a dire Abyss.
Verses spoken Extempore,
At the Sight of my Brother's Dead Corps, January 6.
Thou best of Brothers, and thou best of Friends,(For one our Int'rests were, as one our Minds)
Could earnest Cries, and Floods of briny Tears,
And all the pious Eloquence of Pray'rs,
To thy cold Clay recall th' enliv'ning Breath,
I'd soon relieve thee from the Jaws of Death.
3
We wish thy Life, and seek thee back again.
Yet while from Fetters of the Grave I'm free,
True Love shall keep you still alive in me:
And if my Muse a deathless Fame can spread,
In latest times our Friendship shall be read.
Epitaph
For my BROTHER's Tomb.
I
Mitchell , the Brother and the Friend,To Heav'n, his native Clime, is gone;
And left his Ashes here behind,
Distinguish'd by this sacred Stone.
4
II
His better part with true DelightEnjoys the bless'd Rewards of toil:
No more the Flesh retards his Flight;
No Pow'r can now his Pleasure spoil.
III
'Till he again to Earth returnIn triumph at the final Day,
Let Angels watch his humble Urn,
And keep untouch'd his mortal Clay.
IV
May no dire Horrours of a ShadeCome near the Youth's protected Tomb;
Sweet be his Slumbers, soft his Bed,
And all his Dreams of Bliss to come.
5
The Friendly Mourner.
Must I then live, immortal Pow'rs, behind
My dearest Brother, and my dearest Friend?
I thought that Death, since we united were,
Would never seize a half, and t'other spare.
But with the spoil of that same half I see,
So pleas'd he was, that he neglected me.
Tho' 'twas a Hardship, when my Goods are gone
To leave me bare, distressed, and alone;
Yet since to suffer painful Life I'm doom'd,
My Minutes shall not idly be consum'd.
I'll strive, sweet Soul! thy Memory to save,
Since Thee I cannot ransom from the Grave.
By Grief inspir'd my Verses shall secure
Our virtuous Love in spite of Fortune's Power.
Stong Monuments at length betray their Trust,
And, like their Builders, moulder into Dust:
But Verse immortal, as its Authour, stands,
Embalms true worth, and Reverence commands.
Tho' Tears, the Tokens of my inward Woe,
Much faster than my sacred Verses flow,
My mournful Muse shall please no other Theme,
Till she hath pay'd her Honours to thy Name.
My dearest Brother, and my dearest Friend?
I thought that Death, since we united were,
Would never seize a half, and t'other spare.
But with the spoil of that same half I see,
So pleas'd he was, that he neglected me.
Tho' 'twas a Hardship, when my Goods are gone
To leave me bare, distressed, and alone;
Yet since to suffer painful Life I'm doom'd,
My Minutes shall not idly be consum'd.
I'll strive, sweet Soul! thy Memory to save,
Since Thee I cannot ransom from the Grave.
6
Our virtuous Love in spite of Fortune's Power.
Stong Monuments at length betray their Trust,
And, like their Builders, moulder into Dust:
But Verse immortal, as its Authour, stands,
Embalms true worth, and Reverence commands.
Tho' Tears, the Tokens of my inward Woe,
Much faster than my sacred Verses flow,
My mournful Muse shall please no other Theme,
Till she hath pay'd her Honours to thy Name.
But ah! how shall I shew thy Worth at large,
And my vast Debt of Gratitude discharge!
How shall I tell the Virtues of thy Mind?
And what bright Beauties in thy Conduct shin'd?
In what soft Language shall I paint the Love
That glu'd our Souls, 'ere you was rais'd above;
Ye Muses, Graces, all ye sacred Train
Condole with me, and aid my mournful Strain.
All ye who once have rapt'rous Sweets enjoy'd,
And on a sudden had your Bliss destroy'd;
But chiefly ye, who virtuous Friendship knew,
And feel the Pangs of Separation now,
Join all your Griefs and dire Despair with mine,
In sad united Sympathy combine,
Your secret Torture and Distress expose,
And all your Streams in my deep Ocean lose.
And my vast Debt of Gratitude discharge!
How shall I tell the Virtues of thy Mind?
And what bright Beauties in thy Conduct shin'd?
7
That glu'd our Souls, 'ere you was rais'd above;
Ye Muses, Graces, all ye sacred Train
Condole with me, and aid my mournful Strain.
All ye who once have rapt'rous Sweets enjoy'd,
And on a sudden had your Bliss destroy'd;
But chiefly ye, who virtuous Friendship knew,
And feel the Pangs of Separation now,
Join all your Griefs and dire Despair with mine,
In sad united Sympathy combine,
Your secret Torture and Distress expose,
And all your Streams in my deep Ocean lose.
Ah! why should I implore a foreign Aid
To tell the Woes that all my Soul o'erspread!
What Sympathy, what Eloquence, and Art,
Can shew the Torment of my heavy Heart?
Nature that form'd him only can declare
My Sentiments, and what my Sorrows are.
Let Nature speak the Troubles of my Mind,
And, if she can, describe my parted Friend.
To tell the Woes that all my Soul o'erspread!
What Sympathy, what Eloquence, and Art,
8
Nature that form'd him only can declare
My Sentiments, and what my Sorrows are.
Let Nature speak the Troubles of my Mind,
And, if she can, describe my parted Friend.
Begin—yet 'twill be wondrous hard I know,
Since grief hath laid my wretched Soul so low,
To sing our sacred Love and Friendship well;
How blest he liv'd, and how lamented fell.
His Virtues like a perfect round appear,
In vain I wou'd his Qualities declare:
No colours of my Poetry can paint
The various Charms of so belov'd a Saint:
For Judgment lies in Admiration lost,
Nor knows what Grace it should distinguish most.
Since grief hath laid my wretched Soul so low,
To sing our sacred Love and Friendship well;
How blest he liv'd, and how lamented fell.
His Virtues like a perfect round appear,
In vain I wou'd his Qualities declare:
No colours of my Poetry can paint
The various Charms of so belov'd a Saint:
For Judgment lies in Admiration lost,
Nor knows what Grace it should distinguish most.
9
His Soul was generous, sprightly and refin'd,
Modest yet free, and without Flatt'ry kind,
As if it never lodg'd with Flesh and Blood
It persever'd unspoted, and withstood
The false Allurements of this duller Earth,
As conscious of a more exalted Birth.
He scorn'd the Tricks of base Hypocrisy,
And chus'd to suffer, rather than to lie.
In every State his Conversation was
Serene and chearful, like his blooming Face.
He valued not the glaring Toys of state,
But judg'd it better to be Good than Great.
All his Companions wondred at his Youth,
So grac'd with Knowledge, Honesty and Truth.
The Seeds of Virtue in his Pactice grew,
Admir'd by all, and rivall'd but by few.
He hated Sloth, and shun'd the Ills of Strife,
And lov'd the Pleasures of retired Life.
His Conduct led by young Experience
To any Mortal never gave Offence;
So well he acted in his Span of Days,
That all, when living, crown'd the Youth with Praise.
Now those, who wondred at his Worth before
His early Exit, and our Loss deplore.
Modest yet free, and without Flatt'ry kind,
As if it never lodg'd with Flesh and Blood
It persever'd unspoted, and withstood
The false Allurements of this duller Earth,
As conscious of a more exalted Birth.
He scorn'd the Tricks of base Hypocrisy,
And chus'd to suffer, rather than to lie.
In every State his Conversation was
Serene and chearful, like his blooming Face.
He valued not the glaring Toys of state,
But judg'd it better to be Good than Great.
All his Companions wondred at his Youth,
So grac'd with Knowledge, Honesty and Truth.
The Seeds of Virtue in his Pactice grew,
Admir'd by all, and rivall'd but by few.
He hated Sloth, and shun'd the Ills of Strife,
And lov'd the Pleasures of retired Life.
10
To any Mortal never gave Offence;
So well he acted in his Span of Days,
That all, when living, crown'd the Youth with Praise.
Now those, who wondred at his Worth before
His early Exit, and our Loss deplore.
Ye aged Parents now deserv'dly mourn,
When ye behold your Son's untimely Urn.
I cannot blame you for your mighty Grief,
Since with him fled your hope and kind Relief.
Usefull he was, as well as dear to you,
But lies unactive and in Silence now.
Tho' soon he fell to Death a Sacrifice,
It can't be said, Inglorious there he lies:
For while he liv'd, ignoble Ease he scorn'd,
And with some Action every Hour adorn'd.
He counted want of Industry a Crime,
And tho' his Life was short, Thrift length'ned out his Time.
When ye behold your Son's untimely Urn.
I cannot blame you for your mighty Grief,
Since with him fled your hope and kind Relief.
Usefull he was, as well as dear to you,
But lies unactive and in Silence now.
Tho' soon he fell to Death a Sacrifice,
It can't be said, Inglorious there he lies:
For while he liv'd, ignoble Ease he scorn'd,
And with some Action every Hour adorn'd.
11
And tho' his Life was short, Thrift length'ned out his Time.
How have I seen him eager to obey
And please his Parents, while with Wonder they
Beheld his Zeal, and bless'd their happy Fate
In such a Son, so usefull, and so sweet!
Such his Ambition of obliging was,
He seem'd to die in striving how to please.
Each Minute of his life he reckoned lost,
Which could not some good active Service boast.
Nor did he mercenary Views regard,
But judg'd Acceptance of his Deeds, Reward.
And please his Parents, while with Wonder they
Beheld his Zeal, and bless'd their happy Fate
In such a Son, so usefull, and so sweet!
Such his Ambition of obliging was,
He seem'd to die in striving how to please.
Each Minute of his life he reckoned lost,
Which could not some good active Service boast.
Nor did he mercenary Views regard,
But judg'd Acceptance of his Deeds, Reward.
His Love extended to all Men, beside
The happy Souls to him by Birth ally'd.
Such Dispositions sway'd his noble Mind,
And Qualities in all his Conduct shin'd,
That all the Difference was, in our esteem,
Betwixt Vespasian's generous Son and him,
In this one Point, that Titus could do more,
Not as dispos'd, but cloath'd with greater Power.
No Troubles cou'd his neighbour's Sore oppress,
But he wou'd suffer in their mourn'd Distress:
Like yielding Wax th' Impression he receiv'd,
Nor by his Words were Patients e're deceiv'd.
E'en Foes (if any such cou'd really be)
He pity'd, and bemoan'd in Misery;
As when injur'd he used to be brave,
Disdain'd Revenge, and every Wrong forgave.
Nothing cou'd ruffle the composed Frame
Of his great Mind, in every State the same,
His Temper, that could stedfast Friends create,
Struck Envy dumb, and softned groundless Hate.
The happy Souls to him by Birth ally'd.
12
And Qualities in all his Conduct shin'd,
That all the Difference was, in our esteem,
Betwixt Vespasian's generous Son and him,
In this one Point, that Titus could do more,
Not as dispos'd, but cloath'd with greater Power.
No Troubles cou'd his neighbour's Sore oppress,
But he wou'd suffer in their mourn'd Distress:
Like yielding Wax th' Impression he receiv'd,
Nor by his Words were Patients e're deceiv'd.
E'en Foes (if any such cou'd really be)
He pity'd, and bemoan'd in Misery;
As when injur'd he used to be brave,
Disdain'd Revenge, and every Wrong forgave.
Nothing cou'd ruffle the composed Frame
Of his great Mind, in every State the same,
13
Struck Envy dumb, and softned groundless Hate.
Twas Pleasure to his Parents to behold
Such generous Conduct, or to hear it told.
But ah, so great a Blessing cou'd not last!
Angels that visit here dispatch their Work in haste
Such generous Conduct, or to hear it told.
But ah, so great a Blessing cou'd not last!
Angels that visit here dispatch their Work in haste
O how I'm pain'd to see the hoary Hairs
Of my ag'd Parents so brought down by Cares!
It aggravates, alas, the Stroke to me,
When I such venerable Mourners see
So dumb with Sorrow, while their faling Eyes
Flow down in Streams of liquid Elegies.
O that, for Sake of them, destroying Death
Had spar'd my Brother, and clos'd up my Breath!
His Life wou'd have supported their Distress,
Nor had I seen their present mournful Case:
The Want of me might have been eas'ly born,
But his young Fate they ne'er enough can mourn.
Death in his Fall express'd the utmost Spite,
Because in him was lodg'd his Parents dear Delight.
Of my ag'd Parents so brought down by Cares!
It aggravates, alas, the Stroke to me,
When I such venerable Mourners see
So dumb with Sorrow, while their faling Eyes
Flow down in Streams of liquid Elegies.
O that, for Sake of them, destroying Death
Had spar'd my Brother, and clos'd up my Breath!
14
Nor had I seen their present mournful Case:
The Want of me might have been eas'ly born,
But his young Fate they ne'er enough can mourn.
Death in his Fall express'd the utmost Spite,
Because in him was lodg'd his Parents dear Delight.
But as the Soul inspires our earthly Frame,
And by an Union manages the same:
So perfect Gold no more excells the Brass,
Than Love of Soul doth Love of Body pass.
Nat'ral Affection has a pow'rful Sway;
But that is mortal and will soon decay.
The Fire of Love to Womankind with Pain
May fill the Soul, and soon be quench'd again.
But Friendship binds with strongest Cords the Heart,
And causes greatest Trouble when we part.
Ne'er was a dying Martyr more belov'd
By Heav'n, than I by him whom Death remov'd:
Nor does my Body to my Soul adhere
With truer Love, than he to me was dear.
Unfeign'd and pure was our exalted Tye,
And lasting as the Chain of pow'rful Destiny.
And by an Union manages the same:
So perfect Gold no more excells the Brass,
Than Love of Soul doth Love of Body pass.
Nat'ral Affection has a pow'rful Sway;
But that is mortal and will soon decay.
The Fire of Love to Womankind with Pain
May fill the Soul, and soon be quench'd again.
15
And causes greatest Trouble when we part.
Ne'er was a dying Martyr more belov'd
By Heav'n, than I by him whom Death remov'd:
Nor does my Body to my Soul adhere
With truer Love, than he to me was dear.
Unfeign'd and pure was our exalted Tye,
And lasting as the Chain of pow'rful Destiny.
Tho' those whom Blood and Nature have ally'd,
In Bonds of Friendship are but rarely ty'd,
The sacred Union us so firmly join'd,
We seem'd as Bodies manag'd by one Mind.
So Silver Streams whose gentle Current meet,
With liquid Musick and Embrace unite,
Roll on serene, and both their Waters lose
In one full Tide, while neither of 'em knows
A Property, tho' both of them before
In diff'rent Channels had peculiar Store.
In Bonds of Friendship are but rarely ty'd,
The sacred Union us so firmly join'd,
We seem'd as Bodies manag'd by one Mind.
So Silver Streams whose gentle Current meet,
With liquid Musick and Embrace unite,
16
In one full Tide, while neither of 'em knows
A Property, tho' both of them before
In diff'rent Channels had peculiar Store.
How can I mind our mutual Love and Care,
And not the inward Pains I feel declare?
Can I remember the dear Pleasure gone,
And not the Want of its kind Author moan?
My Fancy paints the Youth with ev'ry Grace,
But, ah! the Phantom flies from mine Embrace.
Grief and Despair thro' all my Spirits spread,
Since he in whom my Life was bound is dead.
Ah! how forlorn, how wretched am I left!
Why do I live, who am of Life bereft?
Why has my Soul the sweet Engagement known?
And why has Heav'n dissolv'd my Ties so soon?
And not the inward Pains I feel declare?
Can I remember the dear Pleasure gone,
And not the Want of its kind Author moan?
My Fancy paints the Youth with ev'ry Grace,
But, ah! the Phantom flies from mine Embrace.
Grief and Despair thro' all my Spirits spread,
Since he in whom my Life was bound is dead.
Ah! how forlorn, how wretched am I left!
Why do I live, who am of Life bereft?
Why has my Soul the sweet Engagement known?
And why has Heav'n dissolv'd my Ties so soon?
17
Thou best of Brothers, shall I cease to mourn
Thine early Fate, and too untimely Urn?
For thee no Sorrows can have an Excess:
All I esteem too little that is less.
In Pride of Youth thy growing Glories fade,
And thou, with them, in Ashes now art laid.
As a fair Plant that soon its Beauty shows,
But sudden falls when Storms the Growth oppose;
So thou at first shone with uncommon Pride,
Greatly thou bloom'd, but in the Blooming dy'd.
In Pangs of Death, as in thy Life before,
Tho' press'd with Troubles and Afflictions sore,
Thy noble Soul, the Standard of your Worth,
With brightest Lustre gloriously shone forth.
Thine early Fate, and too untimely Urn?
For thee no Sorrows can have an Excess:
All I esteem too little that is less.
In Pride of Youth thy growing Glories fade,
And thou, with them, in Ashes now art laid.
As a fair Plant that soon its Beauty shows,
But sudden falls when Storms the Growth oppose;
So thou at first shone with uncommon Pride,
Greatly thou bloom'd, but in the Blooming dy'd.
In Pangs of Death, as in thy Life before,
Tho' press'd with Troubles and Afflictions sore,
Thy noble Soul, the Standard of your Worth,
With brightest Lustre gloriously shone forth.
18
Amidst Death's Terrors and severe Alarms
Thy Virtues stood unvanquish'd in their Charms,
'Till, like a Bird from its Confinement free,
Thou soar'd and sung to bless'd Eternity.
Sooner my Breath shall I resign to Fate
Than thy last Love and Fortitude forget.
The Pains which we, but viewing, cou'd not bear,
Ne'er shock'd thy Soul, nor forc'd a mournful Tear.
Nought but the Thought of parting with your Friends
Caus'd Grief t'affect thee, as it doth our Minds.
And e'en those Tyes of Nature and of Love,
With Resignation to Heav'ns Will, you strove
To conquer; while your Soul aspir'd to Bliss,
In which true Friendship's Self consummate is.
Thy Virtues stood unvanquish'd in their Charms,
'Till, like a Bird from its Confinement free,
Thou soar'd and sung to bless'd Eternity.
Sooner my Breath shall I resign to Fate
Than thy last Love and Fortitude forget.
The Pains which we, but viewing, cou'd not bear,
Ne'er shock'd thy Soul, nor forc'd a mournful Tear.
Nought but the Thought of parting with your Friends
Caus'd Grief t'affect thee, as it doth our Minds.
And e'en those Tyes of Nature and of Love,
With Resignation to Heav'ns Will, you strove
To conquer; while your Soul aspir'd to Bliss,
In which true Friendship's Self consummate is.
19
Oh! that we could with like heroic Pow'r,
And christian Patience, our great Loss endure.
Methinks (if Saints what's done on Earth can know)
He sees our Tears, and wonders at our Woe:
From Heav'n he looks, and joyful seems to say,
My Friends, I'm bless'd,—now give your Groans away.
And christian Patience, our great Loss endure.
Methinks (if Saints what's done on Earth can know)
He sees our Tears, and wonders at our Woe:
From Heav'n he looks, and joyful seems to say,
My Friends, I'm bless'd,—now give your Groans away.
The REFLECTION.
An Ode.
I
How fleet our Minutes and our Joys!The best Possessions here,
Like Jonah's Gourd, at Night arise,
At Morning disappear.
20
Our choicest Hopes are blasted 'ere they grow.
II
As the swift Arrow cuts its WayThro' th' Air, like subtle Wind,
While no Persuasions make it stay,
Or leave a Track behind:
So transient Pleasures of the World are gone,
And Time that's past can be recall'd by none.
III
Yet Sweets of Life that soonest fly,Are most refin'd and pure,
Too strong for weak Mortality
To grapple and endure.
Angels appear to Mankind heav'nly bright,
But, like their Visit, short is our Delight.
21
IV
Was e'er a Blessing more belov'd,More charming and compleat,
Than my late Brother, now remov'd
To his eternal State?
To Jonathan a wond'rous Love was shown
By chosen David, lesser than mine own.
V
Beside the Tyes which Nature made,A virtuous Friendship bound
My Soul to his now happy Shade,
With deathless Glories crown'd.
The endearing Union ravish'd all my Heart,
And since it broke, I want my better Part.
22
VI
As sprightly Plants that spring too fast,And bloom before their Time;
Only to fade away make haste,
And never reach their Prime:
So scorning to be term'd a Boy, he try'd
To rise betimes, but in the Rising dy'd.
VII
No wonder such a noble Mind,All Harmony and Love,
On Earth no pleasing Joys cou'd find,
But soar'd to Realms above.
And yet we murmur when Delights are shown,
And, 'ere enjoy'd, for our bad Merit, gone.
23
VIII
The precious Things we value most,Create the greatest Pain,
When sudden, like a wand'ring Ghost,
They balk our Sense again.
E'en boasted Life expires with mournful Sighs,
And th' Union breaks in painful Agonies.
IX
What Cordial now can give Relief,Or what can please my Taste,
When I reflect with mighty Grief,
On all my Pleasures past?
My Sun is set with him, and all my Light
Serves only now to shew me that 'tis Night.
24
X
The Hermit, when his Vision 's flown,To sooth his doleful Care,
His bypast Dream may think upon,
And half the Pleasure share:
But Floods of Sorrow burst on me, the more
I ruminate, and former Joys explore.
XI
With John, my Brother, and my Friend,Ye Powers, take all I have;
For nothing now can please my Mind,
Nor Comfort do I crave.
On Earth no Compensation can be found;
When Eden's lost, the rest is cursed Ground.
25
XII
And yet, methinks, I should not mournAt so intense a Rate;
For tho' his Ashes grace the Urn,
His Soul was ne'er so great.
Pardon, sweet Saint, my Frailty and Distress;
I mourn my Loss, but hail your Happiness.
The DIRGE.
A Pastoral Eclogue, Sacred to the Memory of my deceas'd Brother.
In
Scotia scarcely had the radiant Sun
Another Year in circling Course begun,
E'er young Sylvander, prostrate on the Ground,
Beneath a Thorn in pensive Mode was found.
While other Shepherds pass'd the jovial Days
In gay Carousing and diverting Plays;
Like Philomel, complaining of her Pain,
He sung his Sorrows in a mournful Strain.
Great his Distress, and woful was his Theme,
Which thus alone he sadly did proclaim:
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Another Year in circling Course begun,
26
Beneath a Thorn in pensive Mode was found.
While other Shepherds pass'd the jovial Days
In gay Carousing and diverting Plays;
Like Philomel, complaining of her Pain,
He sung his Sorrows in a mournful Strain.
Great his Distress, and woful was his Theme,
Which thus alone he sadly did proclaim:
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
The Day which I with dear Menalcas spent,
In by-gone Years in Love and Merriment,
Is now the Day of his untimely Fate,
The woful Subject of my Soul's Regret.
Curs'd, ever curs'd, be that unhappy Day;
Let ne'er the Sun on it his Beams display:
May Clouds for ever all its Glories hide,
And fearful Tempests scatter all its Pride.
Let other Days shun its Society,
Hence Mortals hate it all as much as I.
Let general Grief thro' Ratho Plains be spread,
Since he, their Joy and Ornament, is dead.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
In by-gone Years in Love and Merriment,
Is now the Day of his untimely Fate,
The woful Subject of my Soul's Regret.
Curs'd, ever curs'd, be that unhappy Day;
Let ne'er the Sun on it his Beams display:
May Clouds for ever all its Glories hide,
And fearful Tempests scatter all its Pride.
27
Hence Mortals hate it all as much as I.
Let general Grief thro' Ratho Plains be spread,
Since he, their Joy and Ornament, is dead.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
As I this Morning cast mine Eyes abroad,
I soon observ'd it did portend no good;
Some dismal Omens of my present Woe
Appear'd, which henceforth I'll account most true.
The Wind was Eastern, cloudy was the Sky,
And cloath'd with Snow I saw the Pastures ly,
The Streams stood still in icy Fetters bound,
The Plough was fixed in the frosty Ground,
The aged Trees beneath their Burden groan'd,
The Flocks were trembling, and the Birds bemoan'd;
Behind our Village, on a craggy Rock,
Methought I heard the ugly Raven croak;
The Nightingale that used to repair
To this same Thorn, and charm the neighbouring Air
With pleasing Notes, now, like a widow'd Dove,
I saw lamenting thro' the naked Grove.
While dear Menalcas was alive, the Tree
Was never, never from her Musick free:
But now since he, the best Musician's gone,
Cooing she wanders thro' the Scenes alone;
And, like my self, she mourns where'er she goes:
The very Hedges seem to share her Woes.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
I soon observ'd it did portend no good;
Some dismal Omens of my present Woe
Appear'd, which henceforth I'll account most true.
The Wind was Eastern, cloudy was the Sky,
And cloath'd with Snow I saw the Pastures ly,
The Streams stood still in icy Fetters bound,
The Plough was fixed in the frosty Ground,
The aged Trees beneath their Burden groan'd,
The Flocks were trembling, and the Birds bemoan'd;
28
Methought I heard the ugly Raven croak;
The Nightingale that used to repair
To this same Thorn, and charm the neighbouring Air
With pleasing Notes, now, like a widow'd Dove,
I saw lamenting thro' the naked Grove.
While dear Menalcas was alive, the Tree
Was never, never from her Musick free:
But now since he, the best Musician's gone,
Cooing she wanders thro' the Scenes alone;
And, like my self, she mourns where'er she goes:
The very Hedges seem to share her Woes.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
29
While he, sweet Youth, indulg'd us with his Stay,
The Flocks were sprightly, and the Birds were gay,
The Fields delightful, and compos'd the Sky,
The Groves were glad, our Bow'rs with Melody
Of Pipe and Voice resounded, every Face,
Just like his own, serene and chearful was.
Musick and pow'rful Eloquence display'd
Their Charms in him, who all our Passions sway'd;
Dispell'd our Cares, and yielded true Delight:
But since he's gone, our Joys have taken flight.
Our Huts are silent, as the gloomy Graves;
And Melancholy fills the rural Caves.
No Shepherds whistling on the Plains we hear.
No Plays and Dances on the Green appear.
With him his dear Companions now have lost
All the Delights their rural Life could boast.
His woful Friends and Parents, plung'd in Grief,
Are wretched now, and void of all Relief.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
The Flocks were sprightly, and the Birds were gay,
The Fields delightful, and compos'd the Sky,
The Groves were glad, our Bow'rs with Melody
Of Pipe and Voice resounded, every Face,
Just like his own, serene and chearful was.
Musick and pow'rful Eloquence display'd
Their Charms in him, who all our Passions sway'd;
Dispell'd our Cares, and yielded true Delight:
But since he's gone, our Joys have taken flight.
Our Huts are silent, as the gloomy Graves;
And Melancholy fills the rural Caves.
No Shepherds whistling on the Plains we hear.
No Plays and Dances on the Green appear.
30
All the Delights their rural Life could boast.
His woful Friends and Parents, plung'd in Grief,
Are wretched now, and void of all Relief.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Much was he lov'd, as he deserved well:
In him did all the social Virtues dwell.
Sweet was his Temper, winning as his Song,
And moving was the Language of his Tongue.
His Art to all did perfect Nature seem;
Trifles themselves were elegant in him.
He was all Love and Mercy, Truth and Peace;
His Soul was fill'd, and Conduct shin'd with Grace.
No Deed of his procur'd his Neighbour's Hate,
Nor had he any Enemy but Fate.
All that was good in him at once combin'd,
And like a sudden Flash of Lightning shin'd;
But from us early was he snatch'd away,
E'er we had Time his Beauties to survey:
Yet so much of his Qualities we knew,
That we, alas, lament his Absence now.
Deep is our Grief, and cutting is our Wound,
And all our Eyes in floods of Tears are drown'd.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
In him did all the social Virtues dwell.
Sweet was his Temper, winning as his Song,
And moving was the Language of his Tongue.
His Art to all did perfect Nature seem;
Trifles themselves were elegant in him.
He was all Love and Mercy, Truth and Peace;
His Soul was fill'd, and Conduct shin'd with Grace.
No Deed of his procur'd his Neighbour's Hate,
Nor had he any Enemy but Fate.
31
And like a sudden Flash of Lightning shin'd;
But from us early was he snatch'd away,
E'er we had Time his Beauties to survey:
Yet so much of his Qualities we knew,
That we, alas, lament his Absence now.
Deep is our Grief, and cutting is our Wound,
And all our Eyes in floods of Tears are drown'd.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
But ha! what means yon pure etherial light?
Mine Eyes are dazled, and I lose my Sight.
I hear, methinks, sweet Hymns divinely loud,
The Sound comes downward from yon glorious Cloud.
'Tis our Menalcas with distinguish'd Rays,
'Tis he that offers Songs of heav'nly Praise:
The Sky still brightens as he goes along,
And Angels join in his celestial Song.
Behold! I see Menalcas crown'd.—No more,
Mistaken Mortals, his good Fate deplore.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,
And are disjoin'd from grosser Dregs below;
So flew his Soul to its congenial Clime,
And soon prevented all the Toils of Time.
Now shall his Grave with rising Flow'rs be drest,
And the green Turf lie gently on his Breast.
No more shall Nature sicken and decay;
The Night shall now give place to chearful Day.
Be glad ye Shepherds, fruitful every Field,
Glide on ye Streams, ye Birds your Music yield,
And Angels, with your silver Wings surround
Menalcas' Urn, and guard the sacred Ground.
Oh, welcome Death, and welcome Year to me;
And happy I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Mine Eyes are dazled, and I lose my Sight.
I hear, methinks, sweet Hymns divinely loud,
The Sound comes downward from yon glorious Cloud.
'Tis our Menalcas with distinguish'd Rays,
'Tis he that offers Songs of heav'nly Praise:
32
And Angels join in his celestial Song.
Behold! I see Menalcas crown'd.—No more,
Mistaken Mortals, his good Fate deplore.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,
And are disjoin'd from grosser Dregs below;
So flew his Soul to its congenial Clime,
And soon prevented all the Toils of Time.
Now shall his Grave with rising Flow'rs be drest,
And the green Turf lie gently on his Breast.
No more shall Nature sicken and decay;
The Night shall now give place to chearful Day.
Be glad ye Shepherds, fruitful every Field,
Glide on ye Streams, ye Birds your Music yield,
And Angels, with your silver Wings surround
Menalcas' Urn, and guard the sacred Ground.
Oh, welcome Death, and welcome Year to me;
And happy I, who Hansel-Monday see!
33
An ODE.
To the Reverend Mr. Isaac Watts, V. D. M.
I.
The Muse, dear Watts, that copies thineWith fond Ambition, but unequal Skill,
And would have all his Works divine,
If Pow'r were suited to my Will;
Rob'd of the dearest Bliss below,
Is plung'd in Melancholy now,
And ty'd to mournful Strains,
With heavy Heart, and moulted Wings,
In lowly, artless Numbers sings,
The Cause of all his Pains.
34
A Friend like Gunston, whom of Old you sung
In Lines immortal, as the Love renown'd,
That both your Souls in sacred Union bound;
With painful Sighs has spent his Stock of Breath,
And fal'n a blooming Sacrifice to Death.
II.
Could I with half your Fire declare,What Charms in virtuous Friendship are;
Describe its Transports which we feel,
And paint the Pangs of Separation well:
In ev'ry Verse, in ev'ry Line,
By Art and Nature form'd t'endure,
The Passions should illustrious shine
With all commanding Pow'r.
To ev'ry Reader I'd impart
A lively Transcript of my Heart:
35
That as our Love was paralell'd by none,
And now my Grief excessive is,
And boundless as a vast Abyss:
So ne'er a Bard with brighter Imag'ry,
And better Skill, describ'd his Sense than I.
But, ah! my tender Muse in vain
Aspires at such a Height,
Consummate Poets free from Pain
Can do a Subject right.
You only, Watts, and such as you, can make
A Reader pleas'd, and all your Sentiments partake.
III.
The Top of my indulg'd Ambition now,'Till stronger for advent'rous Flight I grow,
Is to relate in humble Strain
My ancient Love, and present Pain.
36
That all Essays to represent
The Purpose of my Muse are vain,
In such a dull Complaint.
Since he, my Brother, from my Sight
By Death was rudely torn,
My weary Soul knew no Delight,
Unless 'tis good to mourn.
Reflection on my Pleasures gone
Creates a greater Grief;
And when I think how I am left alone,
My Mind admits of no Relief.
The best Refreshment now I find,
Is when clad o'er in Sorrow's Livery,
Or pain'd with mutual Sympathy,
I see some wretched Friend.
Grief in Communion moderates Distress,
And makes the Soul content appear;
37
Offend the tuneful Ear.
IV.
But, ah! my Friend, 'tis small RespiteThat Tears and Sympathy can give;
Nor can my Books yield true Delight,
Or philosophic Cordials make me live;
No more can Company divert
The Troubles of my mournful Heart.
All these I've try'd, but still I find
My Sorrow 's like a growing Tide:
In vain I wou'd my Torture hide,
While his dear Idea haunts my tender Mind.
Why are the greatest Blessings giv'n in vain,
Which must be left with greater Pain?
Tell me, ye Pow'rs, why one was sent
To Earth so glorious, and so short while lent?
38
To have a Blessing lasting as 'twas great?
Yes; he for Earth was too refin'd a Saint,
And therefore Heav'n betimes did him transplant:
E'er his brave Soul was stain'd with Rage,
Lust, Envy and Hypocrisy,
The darling Crimes of this degenerate Age,
It was remov'd to Joys divine,
Amongst the bless'd Society;
Who in consummate Glory shine,
And to th' Eternal King
Celestial Hymns and grateful Praises sing.
V.
Reason assist me while I striveMy Brother to survive;
And no more suffer Tears to flow,
But blessed be, because he's so.
39
For him who can't return?
Why send Complaints where no Redress is found?
Or quarrel with th' Almighty's Will,
Who has the sov'reign Pow'r and Skill
To heal as well as wound?
As thou, Great Ruler, know'st what's fit,
Make me, like patient Watts, submit:
No longer at thy Dispensations pine,
But pleased say, Thy sov'reign Will is mine.
An EPISTLE
To Mr. John Callender.
To thee, dear Youth, Co-partner of my Pain,
How shall I write, and in what doleful Strain?
Too well the Cause of my afflicting Woe,
Too well the Pangs of Friendship lost, you know:
As if our Souls in one were closely join'd,
We mourn at once a Brother and a Friend.
Your Grief is great, proportion'd to our Loss;
(A Friend departed is a mighty Cross.)
But when the Ties of Birth and Friendship break,
How vast the Sorrow which our Souls partake!
This double Woe affects my wretched Heart,
And only I can tell, how much I smart.
The Debt I to a Brother owe is great;
But can I mourn at too intense a Rate
For a dear Friend's severe untimely Fate?
My Soul lies hid in Shades of gloomy Grief,
And sickens more at Thoughts of kind Relief:
With half-shut Eyes, just so, the Bird of Night
Peeps from its Nest, and hates the chearful Light.
How shall I write, and in what doleful Strain?
40
Too well the Pangs of Friendship lost, you know:
As if our Souls in one were closely join'd,
We mourn at once a Brother and a Friend.
Your Grief is great, proportion'd to our Loss;
(A Friend departed is a mighty Cross.)
But when the Ties of Birth and Friendship break,
How vast the Sorrow which our Souls partake!
This double Woe affects my wretched Heart,
And only I can tell, how much I smart.
The Debt I to a Brother owe is great;
But can I mourn at too intense a Rate
For a dear Friend's severe untimely Fate?
My Soul lies hid in Shades of gloomy Grief,
And sickens more at Thoughts of kind Relief:
41
Peeps from its Nest, and hates the chearful Light.
To thee I would unbosom my Distress;
The Smoke when vented usually grows less.
Like sudden Fire true Sorrow, when conceal'd,
Consumes us up, and quenches when reveal'd.
Oh that I could but weep away my Pain,
And melt my Load in Show'rs of briny Rain!
The inward Heat of Sorrow burns me so,
That Tears are dry'd, and therefore cannot flow.
My Suff'rings are unmeasurably great,
And Sobs and Murmurs only tell my State.
Affliction grows a Native of my Breast;
It can't dislodge, when 'tis so well possess'd.
There it must dwell until the Prop of all
Forsake the Building, which of Course must fall.
The Smoke when vented usually grows less.
Like sudden Fire true Sorrow, when conceal'd,
Consumes us up, and quenches when reveal'd.
Oh that I could but weep away my Pain,
And melt my Load in Show'rs of briny Rain!
The inward Heat of Sorrow burns me so,
That Tears are dry'd, and therefore cannot flow.
My Suff'rings are unmeasurably great,
And Sobs and Murmurs only tell my State.
Affliction grows a Native of my Breast;
It can't dislodge, when 'tis so well possess'd.
There it must dwell until the Prop of all
Forsake the Building, which of Course must fall.
42
Ye that ne'er had a Friend, like mine, forbear
To blame my Sorrows and consuming Care.
Ye, like the Stoicks, can be dully brave,
And talk according to the Sense ye have;
But know, mistaken Mortals, that divine
Is the true Spring of this Distress of mine.
Reason, that noble Pow'r, is spent in vain,
To cure my Suff'ring, or asswage my Pain.
'Till I again enjoy my better Part,
Nothing can ease my poor divided Heart.
To blame my Sorrows and consuming Care.
Ye, like the Stoicks, can be dully brave,
And talk according to the Sense ye have;
But know, mistaken Mortals, that divine
Is the true Spring of this Distress of mine.
Reason, that noble Pow'r, is spent in vain,
To cure my Suff'ring, or asswage my Pain.
'Till I again enjoy my better Part,
Nothing can ease my poor divided Heart.
Friendship, thou gen'rous Charmer of the Mind;
Thou heav'nly Flame, and Love from Lust refin'd:
Nobler than Kindred, or than Marriage-Band,
By which the happy Angels seem to stand:
By thee our Souls in Sympathy were ty'd,
And ev'n in Nature closely were ally'd.
Like Poets, born to what we were, we grew;
But, ah! by Death we are disjointed now,
Tho' sooner shall the Lamb and Wolf agree,
Than you forgotten and extinguish'd be.
My Flame immortal, as my Soul, shall prove,
Nor new Acquaintance shall abate my Love.
What's once upon a virtuous Basis sure,
For ever will, in spite of Fate, endure.
All ye that know our mutual Love may guess,
How great 's my present Torture and Distress.
Our Joys were one, as mutual was our Care,
Bound by one Faith we both with Pleasure were.
One Reason govern'd both our yielding Wills;
Like Goods we lov'd, and hated the like Ills.
Friendship in this degen'rate Age is made
A Bait for Sin, or else at best a Trade.
But Honesty was the essential Ground
On which we built, by which our Souls were bound.
More pure, perhaps, but scarce more great, will prove,
The Friendship which shall joyn our Souls Above.
Thou heav'nly Flame, and Love from Lust refin'd:
Nobler than Kindred, or than Marriage-Band,
By which the happy Angels seem to stand:
43
And ev'n in Nature closely were ally'd.
Like Poets, born to what we were, we grew;
But, ah! by Death we are disjointed now,
Tho' sooner shall the Lamb and Wolf agree,
Than you forgotten and extinguish'd be.
My Flame immortal, as my Soul, shall prove,
Nor new Acquaintance shall abate my Love.
What's once upon a virtuous Basis sure,
For ever will, in spite of Fate, endure.
All ye that know our mutual Love may guess,
How great 's my present Torture and Distress.
Our Joys were one, as mutual was our Care,
Bound by one Faith we both with Pleasure were.
One Reason govern'd both our yielding Wills;
Like Goods we lov'd, and hated the like Ills.
Friendship in this degen'rate Age is made
A Bait for Sin, or else at best a Trade.
44
On which we built, by which our Souls were bound.
More pure, perhaps, but scarce more great, will prove,
The Friendship which shall joyn our Souls Above.
Can I forget thee, my departed Friend?
Shall virtuous Love e'er know a wretched End?
No: Thy dear Image, tho' with mighty Pain,
Shall fill my Mind while I on Earth remain.
All Days to me roll undistinguish'd now,
And but prolong one hated Line of Woe:
But thou art happy in the silent Urn,
While we our Loss, and thy Departure mourn.
No Hopes or Fears invade thy naked Breast:
This thou hast gain'd by Death, to be at Rest.
The Grave's the Bed where weary Nature lies,
Throws off her Load of Care and Miseries:
From outward Sorrows gets a wish'd Release,
And sinks in Slumbers of eternal Peace.
What once we priz'd is now a Nothing made,
Poor useless Dust, with Worms in Silence laid:
Blended it lies with more ignoble Clay,
And hid from us, as from the shining Day.
Untimely Death! thou seiz'd the Young and Brave;
What bloom'd of late, now withers in the Grave;
Never, Oh! never more to see the Sun;
Still dark in a damp Vault, and still alone.
Shall virtuous Love e'er know a wretched End?
No: Thy dear Image, tho' with mighty Pain,
Shall fill my Mind while I on Earth remain.
All Days to me roll undistinguish'd now,
And but prolong one hated Line of Woe:
But thou art happy in the silent Urn,
While we our Loss, and thy Departure mourn.
No Hopes or Fears invade thy naked Breast:
This thou hast gain'd by Death, to be at Rest.
45
Throws off her Load of Care and Miseries:
From outward Sorrows gets a wish'd Release,
And sinks in Slumbers of eternal Peace.
What once we priz'd is now a Nothing made,
Poor useless Dust, with Worms in Silence laid:
Blended it lies with more ignoble Clay,
And hid from us, as from the shining Day.
Untimely Death! thou seiz'd the Young and Brave;
What bloom'd of late, now withers in the Grave;
Never, Oh! never more to see the Sun;
Still dark in a damp Vault, and still alone.
Yet why make we a Mystery of Death?
It is no more than to resign the Breath:
A calm, eternal Sleep in silent Night,
Exempt from Dreams, as from the shining Light.
'Tis but a poor imaginary Line,
Which earthly Being does at last confine;
Or like a Gale, that wafts us gently o'er
To other Scenes, on an immortal Shore:
The Ties of Nature only it unbinds,
And has no Horrors but for guilty Minds.
When on the Margin of the Grave they stand,
And view deserved Punishments at hand;
While Conscience inly chides them for their Faults,
And brings past Actions to their mournful Thoughts;
Then Death looks dreadful, and to change their Fate
They would repent, but find it would be late.
Distracting Doubts and Terrors fill their Breast;
In vain they labour languishing for Rest:
Each Step of Death affords new Agonies,
And opens Scenes of Vengeance to their Eyes.
But upright Souls with Pleasure yield their Breath,
And gladly welcome the Approach of Death:
No painful Sting or dismal Gloom he wears,
But all serene and lovely he appears.
Dark Clouds sometimes may interpose a while,
And all their Thoughts with Fear and Sorrow fill:
But sudden Gleams of Glory pierce the Night,
And chear the Mind with Views of endless Light:
It is no more than to resign the Breath:
A calm, eternal Sleep in silent Night,
Exempt from Dreams, as from the shining Light.
46
Which earthly Being does at last confine;
Or like a Gale, that wafts us gently o'er
To other Scenes, on an immortal Shore:
The Ties of Nature only it unbinds,
And has no Horrors but for guilty Minds.
When on the Margin of the Grave they stand,
And view deserved Punishments at hand;
While Conscience inly chides them for their Faults,
And brings past Actions to their mournful Thoughts;
Then Death looks dreadful, and to change their Fate
They would repent, but find it would be late.
Distracting Doubts and Terrors fill their Breast;
In vain they labour languishing for Rest:
Each Step of Death affords new Agonies,
And opens Scenes of Vengeance to their Eyes.
47
And gladly welcome the Approach of Death:
No painful Sting or dismal Gloom he wears,
But all serene and lovely he appears.
Dark Clouds sometimes may interpose a while,
And all their Thoughts with Fear and Sorrow fill:
But sudden Gleams of Glory pierce the Night,
And chear the Mind with Views of endless Light:
Oh grant, ye Pow'rs, that I may bravely meet,
Like my dead Brother, my approaching Fate!
For ne'er a Soul with greater Patience bore
Such piercing Pains and Agonies before;
None more unmov'd at sight of Death appear'd;
He saw no present Sting, nor future Torment fear'd.
Arm'd with his Innocence resolv'd he lay,
Bade Friends, Farewel, and sweetly soar'd away,
Amidst a heav'nly Guard to Realms of purest Day.
With him, my Heart, dear Callender, is fled,
And to this World, and all its Joys, is dead.
Of Life, once priz'd, at length I'm weary grown,
Since all my Pleasures here below are flown:
Oh haste dull Time, and put a welcome End
To my wretch'd Days, as to my happy Friend.
There's nothing here worth living to be found;
What I behold is but enchanted Ground.
The sweetest Honey's mixt with nauseous Gall,
And 'tis a Cheat which Mortals happy call.
No more the charming Tree of Life I'll boast,
Since Paradise, in which it grew, is lost.
Like my dead Brother, my approaching Fate!
For ne'er a Soul with greater Patience bore
Such piercing Pains and Agonies before;
None more unmov'd at sight of Death appear'd;
He saw no present Sting, nor future Torment fear'd.
48
Bade Friends, Farewel, and sweetly soar'd away,
Amidst a heav'nly Guard to Realms of purest Day.
With him, my Heart, dear Callender, is fled,
And to this World, and all its Joys, is dead.
Of Life, once priz'd, at length I'm weary grown,
Since all my Pleasures here below are flown:
Oh haste dull Time, and put a welcome End
To my wretch'd Days, as to my happy Friend.
There's nothing here worth living to be found;
What I behold is but enchanted Ground.
The sweetest Honey's mixt with nauseous Gall,
And 'tis a Cheat which Mortals happy call.
No more the charming Tree of Life I'll boast,
Since Paradise, in which it grew, is lost.
49
Of earthly Joys how soon are we depriv'd?
Our choicest Pleasure is at best short-liv'd.
The greatest Blessing, when remov'd again,
Creates a double, Soul-tormenting Pain.
At best, Fruition is a flatt'ring Cheat;
It raises Hope, and can as soon defeat.
Just when we come t'enjoy the pleasing Prey,
Like a shy Ghost, it vanishes away.
Heav'n seems to mock our fond Simplicity
By shewing Pearls, and when we curious try
To snatch them up, they baulk our curious Eye.
Yet I could ne'er the Mystery conceive;
Nor ceas'd th' Impostor's Cunning to believe.
But now no more I'll trust delusive Bliss,
Nor value Pleasure, since I'm rob'd of this.
Our choicest Pleasure is at best short-liv'd.
The greatest Blessing, when remov'd again,
Creates a double, Soul-tormenting Pain.
At best, Fruition is a flatt'ring Cheat;
It raises Hope, and can as soon defeat.
Just when we come t'enjoy the pleasing Prey,
Like a shy Ghost, it vanishes away.
Heav'n seems to mock our fond Simplicity
By shewing Pearls, and when we curious try
To snatch them up, they baulk our curious Eye.
Yet I could ne'er the Mystery conceive;
Nor ceas'd th' Impostor's Cunning to believe.
But now no more I'll trust delusive Bliss,
Nor value Pleasure, since I'm rob'd of this.
50
Tho' Death hath stabb'd me in my tender Part,
By seizing John, the Darling of my Heart,
This Lesson he hath taught me by the Way,
Ne'er to make Heav'n of Pleasures that decay.
I'll never trust the Juggler's Art again,
But mind that Flesh is Grass, and all below is vain.
Then, O my Soul, with an uncommon Flight
Wing thou thy Way to Scenes of new Delight.
Thy better Half already is remov'd
To that bless'd Region by the Saints belov'd.
Does not his Death sound loudly in mine Ear,
That Happiness below is not sincere?
No Joys on Earth can court a longer Stay,
And Int'rest calls me to a purer Day.
Adieu to vain delusive Bliss below;
Adieu to Care, and vexing Sorrows now;
Adieu to every thing that can divert
My Soul resolv'd to seek its better Part.
Muse, lead the Way—For sure you cannot miss,
To find my Brother wheresoe'er he is.
Range the wide World of Spirits o'er and o'er,
The Way he went, and what 's his Work, explore.
Nought can escape thy curious watchful Eye,
Nor can so fair a Spirit undistinguish'd lye.
By seizing John, the Darling of my Heart,
This Lesson he hath taught me by the Way,
Ne'er to make Heav'n of Pleasures that decay.
I'll never trust the Juggler's Art again,
But mind that Flesh is Grass, and all below is vain.
Then, O my Soul, with an uncommon Flight
Wing thou thy Way to Scenes of new Delight.
Thy better Half already is remov'd
To that bless'd Region by the Saints belov'd.
Does not his Death sound loudly in mine Ear,
That Happiness below is not sincere?
No Joys on Earth can court a longer Stay,
And Int'rest calls me to a purer Day.
Adieu to vain delusive Bliss below;
Adieu to Care, and vexing Sorrows now;
51
My Soul resolv'd to seek its better Part.
Muse, lead the Way—For sure you cannot miss,
To find my Brother wheresoe'er he is.
Range the wide World of Spirits o'er and o'er,
The Way he went, and what 's his Work, explore.
Nought can escape thy curious watchful Eye,
Nor can so fair a Spirit undistinguish'd lye.
'Tis he—Full well I know the Kindred-Mind,
The purer Part of my departed Friend:
Array'd in Robes of heav'nly Light and State,
How near he stands to the Almighty's Seat!
Eternal Transports of consummate Joy,
Of Love, and Wonder are his dear Employ.
Around him Choirs of Saints and Angels sing,
He crowns the Consort with his golden String,
And glads all Heav'n with Praises to its King.
The purer Part of my departed Friend:
Array'd in Robes of heav'nly Light and State,
How near he stands to the Almighty's Seat!
Eternal Transports of consummate Joy,
Of Love, and Wonder are his dear Employ.
52
He crowns the Consort with his golden String,
And glads all Heav'n with Praises to its King.
Sweet Contemplation! Let me always dwell
On such a Theme, and Heav'ns rich Glories tell.
When shall I view these intellectual Scenes,
Loos'd from the Flesh that me on Earth detains?
How long shall Saints around us take their Flight,
Unbody'd to eternal Realms of Light?
Dear Calender! You long, as well as I,
To look below you on this Earth and Sky.
Your Spirit chides low Nature's lazy Wheels,
And longs to mount the everlasting Hills;
To climb with Pleasure the celestial Road
That leads to John, your Saviour, and your God.
'Tis but a while we must of Sorrows taste,
To make us value more a heav'nly Feast.
'Ere long we shall transcend the vaulted Sky,
And, like free'd Larks, sing Joyful as we fly.
On such a Theme, and Heav'ns rich Glories tell.
When shall I view these intellectual Scenes,
Loos'd from the Flesh that me on Earth detains?
How long shall Saints around us take their Flight,
Unbody'd to eternal Realms of Light?
Dear Calender! You long, as well as I,
To look below you on this Earth and Sky.
Your Spirit chides low Nature's lazy Wheels,
And longs to mount the everlasting Hills;
53
That leads to John, your Saviour, and your God.
'Tis but a while we must of Sorrows taste,
To make us value more a heav'nly Feast.
'Ere long we shall transcend the vaulted Sky,
And, like free'd Larks, sing Joyful as we fly.
Thoughts on Humane Life.
An Ode. To my Sister.
I
Believe it, Delia, Life's a Scene,In various Colours pictur'd o'er;
A thousand Prospects entertain
Our Eyes each Day unknown to us before.
54
II
When in our young and tender YearsWe look abroad, in fair Disguise
A World of Pleasure soon appears,
To court our Minds, and captivate our Eyes.
III
While yet the Thoughts are free of Cares,What gay Allurements have we known?
How flatt'ring are the fatal Snares,
Which solid Reason charges us to shun?
IV
No Grief, no Tears disturb the Mind,No Jealousies our Joys allay,
But Charms and Hopes of every kind
Our Fancies cheat, and all our Conduct sway.
55
V
A Thousand Beauties in the SpringAfford a Pleasure to the Sight;
Then all the Fields are promising:
They sooth our Hopes, and fill us with Delight.
VI
Thus heedless up the Hill of TimeBy small Degrees we soon ascend,
From thence we see our Sun decline,
And all our Joys dispatching to an End.
VII
Our mighty Bliss grows fugitive,Our Hopes and fond Delights are flown,
When Youth, the Time we seem to live,
Beyond Redemption is remov'd, and gone.
56
VIII
Now Care, and Toil, and Sickness come,The constant Train of growing Years,
And Death's inexorable Doom,
'Ere we're aware, within our View appears.
IX
The Dregs, which to the Bottom sink,Of all the Wine our Youth devour'd,
Remain for latter Years to drink,
When Joy is fled, and Life with Sorrow sour'd.
X
The soft Ideas fly away,That wander'd in our youthful Minds,
Our Wit and Beauty now decay,
As Leaves from Trees before the Western Winds.
57
XI
The glaring Colours that allur'dAnd pleas'd at first the ravish'd Eye,
Are alter'd quite, are all obscur'd
With different Draughts of a more dismal Dye.
XII
The Thorns that former Years have sown,Unheeded by us in our Youth,
To Crops of late Repentance grown,
Afford us Toil, and smartly charge our Sloth.
XIII
Then tir'd with Cares, with Labour spent,With thousand Miseries oppress'd,
We seek for Time, but to lament
That youthful Fancies rob'd our Minds of Rest.
58
XIV
Improve then, Delia, present Time,And put no Trust in fading Toys;
E'er long your Life will reach the Prime,
And then Farewel to sublunary Joys.
XV
Who knows but all your blooming CharmsMay blasted be before they bear?
Youth's not secure from Death's Alarms,
Nor are the best Enjoyments lasting here.
XVI
Our Brother in the Pride of LifeResign'd to Fate his precious Breath:
Awhile he held a generous Strife;
But who is Proof against the Darts of Death?
59
Thoughts on Death and Judgment.
An Ode.
I.
What Pow'r, O Death, and InfluenceIs this thou hast upon my Soul?
My Reason offers small Defence,
And is not able to controll
The mighty Fears which in my Mind arise,
When Fancy shapes thee in her gazing Eyes.
For tho' at Distance thy tremendous Shade
Is pictur'd in my Brain,
A thousand Fears invade
And fill my Mind with Pain.
60
The Terror of the Great and Brave,
Is still the Subject of my pensive Thought:
Before my Fancy evermore I view
The dire and melancholy Draught
Which, as I fly, doth at my Heels pursue;
And e'er I am aware,
The Phantom frustrates all my Care,
And into sad Subjection I am always brought.
II.
'Tis not, O Death, thine AgoniesAnd piercing Darts I chiefly fear:
The Grave, should it appear
With its Inhabitants the Worms,
Should not my Soul surprize
With all its dreadful Forms.
Were these the worst, I'd spurn this mortal Clay,
And meet the King of Terrors half the Way.
61
Lies something shocking to my Soul.
Eternity appears in view,
And lo an angry Brow!
High on a Throne of awful State,
A Judge appears to portion human Fate.
Him human Forces cannot brave;
No Bribes, no Promises can blind;
No Threats can fright, no Wiles deceive,
And make him change his Mind.
Would He from His tremendous Throne
With Smiles approve what I have done,
I should be happy; and in Scorn despise
Whate'er is termed Great and Good below the Skies.
III.
A doubtful Stake I have to throw,And all my Happiness or Woe,
62
Depends upon the awful Fate.
O thou Almighty Judge regard
The Cries of an impatient Bard!
Since Gifts and Off'rings cannot save from Death,
Nor Rams and Flocks appease thy Wrath,
Nor Streams of fragrant Oil controll
The Fury of a God;
Nor the more precious Firstborn's Blood
Compound for Debt, and make Atonement for the Soul;
I willingly, O God, resign to Thee
(Accept the humble Gift from me)
My Youth, and all its blooming Heat,
Whate'er I am, or have, or can acquire:
My Muse and Thoughts I dedicate
('Tis fit the Issues of the sacred Fire,
63
And all my Vanities,
And loved Lusts, to please thee shall expire.
An EPISTLE
To the Reverend Mr. John Guthrey, V. D. M.
While you, dear Sir, with undisturbed Mind,
Endure Afflictions, I, your weaker Friend,
Rob'd of a Brother, and with him of Joy,
In silent Sighs my fleeting Hours employ;
Life grows a Burden, and not worth my Care,
My Woes so many and oppressing are.
The Loss of such a Brother, and a Friend,
(For we in both Relations once were join'd)
In spite of Virtue and Philosophy,
Plunges my Mind in an Abyss of Misery.
Awhile he shone, awhile our Sight he cheer'd,
But soon the short-liv'd Comfort disappear'd.
How soon he flourish'd, and how ripe he grew
In Qualities divinely bright, you knew:
He could not long delight us with his Stay;
His Soul disdain'd to be confin'd to Clay.
So low-hung Clouds, by raining over-fast,
Break all at once, nor can they always last.
And often as the Heav'ns refresh our Sight,
While they appear serenely clear and bright,
Thick horrid Clouds with sudden Gloom arise,
And Shades of Hell, to hide them from our Eyes.
Endure Afflictions, I, your weaker Friend,
Rob'd of a Brother, and with him of Joy,
In silent Sighs my fleeting Hours employ;
Life grows a Burden, and not worth my Care,
My Woes so many and oppressing are.
64
(For we in both Relations once were join'd)
In spite of Virtue and Philosophy,
Plunges my Mind in an Abyss of Misery.
Awhile he shone, awhile our Sight he cheer'd,
But soon the short-liv'd Comfort disappear'd.
How soon he flourish'd, and how ripe he grew
In Qualities divinely bright, you knew:
He could not long delight us with his Stay;
His Soul disdain'd to be confin'd to Clay.
So low-hung Clouds, by raining over-fast,
Break all at once, nor can they always last.
And often as the Heav'ns refresh our Sight,
While they appear serenely clear and bright,
Thick horrid Clouds with sudden Gloom arise,
And Shades of Hell, to hide them from our Eyes.
65
Oh what is Life! a Shadow, or a Dream,
A very nothing, or at most a Name!
A poor imaginary Scene, that lies
Betwixt two endless dark Eternities,
A hasty Step forth from our Mother's Womb
To the damp Grave, or ghostly silent Tomb.
The wretched World, where scarce we shew our Face,
And breath a while, we term our dwelling-place:
But generous Minds, like him whose Fate I mourn,
See all Things vain on Earth, and ev'ry Pleasure spurn.
A very nothing, or at most a Name!
A poor imaginary Scene, that lies
Betwixt two endless dark Eternities,
A hasty Step forth from our Mother's Womb
To the damp Grave, or ghostly silent Tomb.
The wretched World, where scarce we shew our Face,
And breath a while, we term our dwelling-place:
But generous Minds, like him whose Fate I mourn,
See all Things vain on Earth, and ev'ry Pleasure spurn.
We but, like Players, on the Stage appear,
Strut for awhile, and bluster loudly here,
With Sound and Fury make our senseless Tale,
And scarce approv'd behind the Curtain steal.
They're blest, who make not Earth their dear Abode;
But act awhile, and gain the Plaudit of their God.
Short Bounds of Life are set to mortal Man:
'Tis Virtue's Work to stretch the narrow Span.
Improperly we measure Life by Breath,
They do not truly live, who merit Death.
Strut for awhile, and bluster loudly here,
With Sound and Fury make our senseless Tale,
And scarce approv'd behind the Curtain steal.
66
But act awhile, and gain the Plaudit of their God.
Short Bounds of Life are set to mortal Man:
'Tis Virtue's Work to stretch the narrow Span.
Improperly we measure Life by Breath,
They do not truly live, who merit Death.
Long have I been with prosp'rous Life deceiv'd;
Till now, I ne'er its Vanity believ'd.
I trusted much the varnished Deceit;
But am convinc'd at last, that ev'ry Charm 's a Cheat:
That Goods of Life are like the chymic Gold,
Which fool us young, and begger us when old.
All our To-morrows are as Yesterday,
That pleas'd our Eyes with Shew, and sudden pass'd away.
Now I begin to feel afflicting Pain,
And, of the best Enjoyment here, complain:
We never know so well our wretched Case,
As when we view ourselves in Sorrow's Glass.
My Grief, perhaps, by others will be blam'd,
And all my mournful Numbers much defam'd.
So I, untroubled, us'd to charge before
My Neighbours, who with Patience hardly bore
The mighty Sorrows of their wretched Mind,
While they esteem'd me Ign'rant and Unkind.
All Men give counsel to their Friends distress'd,
While they themselves are easy and at rest;
Yet when they feel the like Distress, they cry,
No Pain's so great; we'll swoon, despair and dye.
Their Counsel turns to Passion and Complaint,
And no soft Language can their Trouble paint.
They blame all others who in Groans and Sighs
Do not with them condole and sympathize,
Thus all Men preach up Patience to the griev'd;
But, when afflicted, scarce will be reliev'd.
Moral they were of late; but now their Pow'r
Is not sufficient their own Pain t'endure.
Till now, I ne'er its Vanity believ'd.
I trusted much the varnished Deceit;
But am convinc'd at last, that ev'ry Charm 's a Cheat:
That Goods of Life are like the chymic Gold,
Which fool us young, and begger us when old.
All our To-morrows are as Yesterday,
That pleas'd our Eyes with Shew, and sudden pass'd away.
67
And, of the best Enjoyment here, complain:
We never know so well our wretched Case,
As when we view ourselves in Sorrow's Glass.
My Grief, perhaps, by others will be blam'd,
And all my mournful Numbers much defam'd.
So I, untroubled, us'd to charge before
My Neighbours, who with Patience hardly bore
The mighty Sorrows of their wretched Mind,
While they esteem'd me Ign'rant and Unkind.
All Men give counsel to their Friends distress'd,
While they themselves are easy and at rest;
Yet when they feel the like Distress, they cry,
No Pain's so great; we'll swoon, despair and dye.
Their Counsel turns to Passion and Complaint,
And no soft Language can their Trouble paint.
They blame all others who in Groans and Sighs
Do not with them condole and sympathize,
68
But, when afflicted, scarce will be reliev'd.
Moral they were of late; but now their Pow'r
Is not sufficient their own Pain t'endure.
Bid me not, Mortals, bravely Suff'rings bear,
And for my Brother's Death unmov'd, like you, appear:
But, if ye can, a noble Pattern shew,
And I shall then obsequious be to you.
Yet 'ere ye find occasion to declare
Your boasted Virtue, first you must compare
With me in Sorrow for so true a Friend,
Curious to search out Beauties to commend,
In censuring slow; to whom you may impart
With safety all the Secrets of your Heart;
Make common e'en your most retired thoughts,
Nor fear he will reveal, tho' gently chide your Faults.
Sooner to Fleets the Winds shall useless prove,
Before you find a more exalted Love.
The Flow'rs shall yield no Honey to the Bee,
'Ere Mankind any Parallel shall see.
You, who the Reason of my Sorrows know,
Commiserate my sad Condition now.
Compassion seems a gen'rous Property
Of Humankind to those in Misery.
The Tears which Nature gave to Man declare
She meant we shou'd our Brethren's Troubles share.
The Sentiments which inly we conceive
Are known by Weeping, Man's Prerogative.
By pitying Looks and melting Eyes we show
Our Sympathy with others painful Woe.
This nat'ral Piety at first refin'd,
And Heav'nwards rais'd the Heart of Humankind.
It proves our Spirit of divine Descent,
While that of Brutes to Earth is downwards bent.
And for my Brother's Death unmov'd, like you, appear:
But, if ye can, a noble Pattern shew,
And I shall then obsequious be to you.
Yet 'ere ye find occasion to declare
Your boasted Virtue, first you must compare
With me in Sorrow for so true a Friend,
Curious to search out Beauties to commend,
In censuring slow; to whom you may impart
With safety all the Secrets of your Heart;
Make common e'en your most retired thoughts,
Nor fear he will reveal, tho' gently chide your Faults.
69
Before you find a more exalted Love.
The Flow'rs shall yield no Honey to the Bee,
'Ere Mankind any Parallel shall see.
You, who the Reason of my Sorrows know,
Commiserate my sad Condition now.
Compassion seems a gen'rous Property
Of Humankind to those in Misery.
The Tears which Nature gave to Man declare
She meant we shou'd our Brethren's Troubles share.
The Sentiments which inly we conceive
Are known by Weeping, Man's Prerogative.
By pitying Looks and melting Eyes we show
Our Sympathy with others painful Woe.
This nat'ral Piety at first refin'd,
And Heav'nwards rais'd the Heart of Humankind.
70
While that of Brutes to Earth is downwards bent.
But why, alas! shou'd mortal Man complain
Of Fortune, Fate, or Providence, in vain?
God knows our Case, and suits his Conduct well;
We may mistake, but He has perfect Skill.
Reason's too short, to measure infinite:
Th' Abyss of Justice can't be known by it.
A Chain there is which guides Affairs below,
But purblind we its nearest Link scarce know:
Far less our Eyes explore the Original,
The mighty Beam above that poises all.
To virtuous Knowledge we were early bred,
And in our Souls wise Nature Wisdom laid;
That we, like Heroes, with a brave Controll,
Our fiery Passions and their Rage might rule:
To bear our Cross, and hold a glorious Strife
With adverse Fate, and ev'ry Change of Life:
To wait Heav'ns Time, and look for better Days,
When Sighs shall end in grateful Shouts of Praise.
Of Fortune, Fate, or Providence, in vain?
God knows our Case, and suits his Conduct well;
We may mistake, but He has perfect Skill.
Reason's too short, to measure infinite:
Th' Abyss of Justice can't be known by it.
A Chain there is which guides Affairs below,
But purblind we its nearest Link scarce know:
Far less our Eyes explore the Original,
The mighty Beam above that poises all.
To virtuous Knowledge we were early bred,
And in our Souls wise Nature Wisdom laid;
That we, like Heroes, with a brave Controll,
Our fiery Passions and their Rage might rule:
71
With adverse Fate, and ev'ry Change of Life:
To wait Heav'ns Time, and look for better Days,
When Sighs shall end in grateful Shouts of Praise.
'Tis our own Wisdom moulds our present State;
And to our Lives proportion'd is our Fate.
Our Faults or Virtues have an Influence,
And seem to govern ruling Providence.
True Valour soars above the Things that seem
Distress and Pain, in mortal Man's Esteem.
Afflictions are not real Ills, else Heav'n
Had ne'er such Gifts to chosen Fav'rites giv'n;
They're only sent to try our Patience well,
And teach our Minds in gen'rous Arts to excell:
To show the Charms that with a foolish Pride,
We otherwise in easy Life would hide.
A noble Spirit ne'er more brisk appears,
Exerts its Pow'rs, and spurns its Clog of Cares,
Than when a Weight of Trouble bears it down,
And Fortune seems to take delight to frown.
Then I'll not fondly aggravate my Pain,
Nor of the Conduct of the Fates complain.
Patience, my Friend, will mitigate Distress,
Dispel our Cares, and make Affliction less.
We'll trust the Almighty Ruler of this Ball
With our Concerns, who best disposes all.
Tho' cloudy Hours invade our Time, what then?
We have had clear ones, and may have again.
So silver Rills, by rushing Rains defil'd,
May roul awhile unwholesome thro' the Field;
But when the Clouds are scatter'd, and the Air
Turns more serene, they bright again appear.
And to our Lives proportion'd is our Fate.
Our Faults or Virtues have an Influence,
And seem to govern ruling Providence.
True Valour soars above the Things that seem
Distress and Pain, in mortal Man's Esteem.
Afflictions are not real Ills, else Heav'n
Had ne'er such Gifts to chosen Fav'rites giv'n;
They're only sent to try our Patience well,
And teach our Minds in gen'rous Arts to excell:
72
We otherwise in easy Life would hide.
A noble Spirit ne'er more brisk appears,
Exerts its Pow'rs, and spurns its Clog of Cares,
Than when a Weight of Trouble bears it down,
And Fortune seems to take delight to frown.
Then I'll not fondly aggravate my Pain,
Nor of the Conduct of the Fates complain.
Patience, my Friend, will mitigate Distress,
Dispel our Cares, and make Affliction less.
We'll trust the Almighty Ruler of this Ball
With our Concerns, who best disposes all.
Tho' cloudy Hours invade our Time, what then?
We have had clear ones, and may have again.
So silver Rills, by rushing Rains defil'd,
May roul awhile unwholesome thro' the Field;
But when the Clouds are scatter'd, and the Air
Turns more serene, they bright again appear.
73
Tis fit that Troubles should our Lives annoy:
Who 've felt no Sorrows cannot relish Joy.
We should not murmur at the Pains we bear,
Since Trouble best becomes our Nature here.
We to Distress, as to our Center tend,
As Flames of Fire we see to Heav'n ascend.
Beside, some Grief shows mighty Love, but yet
Too much declares as great a Want of Wit.
'Tis an Ambition of an adverse Fate,
T'indulge a mournful melancholy State:
In Grief That often does appear with Charms,
And almost cozens us into its Arms;
But it unmans the Soul in which it dwells;
And therefore he evites it who excells:
It makes a Feather have prodigious Weight,
And swells a Mole-hill to a Mountain's Height:
It turns each Spark into a blazing Flame,
And every Blast, a Tempest hard to tame.
Who 've felt no Sorrows cannot relish Joy.
We should not murmur at the Pains we bear,
Since Trouble best becomes our Nature here.
We to Distress, as to our Center tend,
As Flames of Fire we see to Heav'n ascend.
Beside, some Grief shows mighty Love, but yet
Too much declares as great a Want of Wit.
'Tis an Ambition of an adverse Fate,
T'indulge a mournful melancholy State:
In Grief That often does appear with Charms,
And almost cozens us into its Arms;
But it unmans the Soul in which it dwells;
And therefore he evites it who excells:
It makes a Feather have prodigious Weight,
And swells a Mole-hill to a Mountain's Height:
It turns each Spark into a blazing Flame,
And every Blast, a Tempest hard to tame.
74
To a CANDLE.
In Imitation of the Numbers of Mr. Pope in his Ode on Silence.
I
Thou Candle, faint Resemblance of the Sun,Whose Blaze, like Life, is sudden spent, and gone,
Need I address to thee, and make my Sorrows known?
II
Already thou hast seen my flowing Tears,And been a Witness of my anxious Cares,
Nor art thou Stranger to my Sighs and loanly Pray'rs.
75
III
Too well thou know'st how melancholy IHave pass'd the Hours in your Society,
When Nature and her Seed in easy Slumbers lye.
IV
Oft you alone have heard my Muse complain,And tell the Spring and Measure of my Pain,
While these fast failing Eyes demanded Sleep in vain.
V
If e'er a short Respite is granted me.'Tis when I do compare my self with thee,
And in thy dying Light read friendly Sympathy.
76
VI
Thy Flame's an Emblem of the burning Grief,That by degrees consumes my wretched Life;
Thou wastes away with me, while all beside are deaf.
VII
My Fellow Mortals ign'rant of my Woes,On downy Beds enjoy their wish'd Repose,
While thou in Sympathy to ancient nothing goes.
VIII
As my Distresses Signs of Life display,As well as Symptoms of a fast Decay,
Thy Flames do just the like—In living die away.
77
IX
Nor is the wondrous Parallel less bright,Betwixt my Case, and your expiring Light,
In this; That both of us prefer the silent Night.
X
When Day's Great Ruler mounts the Hemisphere,No more the Rays of your poor Flames appear,
But lose themselves in Beams more useful as more clear.
XI
My Sorrows thus in Solitude take place,In public I put on a cheerful Face,
Nor dare in sight of Men avouch my mournful Case.
78
XII
I see, my Taper, thou makes haste to die,And minds me well, that so 'ere long must I.
O may my Life and Death have like Affinity!
Psalm xlii. Verse 5.
Why art thou cast down, O my Soul, and why art thou disquieted within me? &c.
I
Say, O my Soul, why thus opprest with Woe?Why so dismay'd and mightily cast down?
Tell me the Cause thou agonizes so?
What Floods of Grief thy chearful Temper drown?
79
II
Thou seem'st afraid as Dangers were at hand,Or mourn as if you felt a present Pain.
Thy Pow'rs and Passions lie at the Command
Of Melancholy and her ghostly Train.
III
I'm pain'd to find thee in so wretch'd a Case,So hoarse with Groans, and delug'd o'er with Tears;
Darkness o'erspreads thy former shining Face,
And all thy Courage sinks in muddy Cares.
IV
But wilt thou always feed the raging Flame,Indulge the Sorrows that so fatal prove?
Resolv'd art thou to glory in thy Shame,
And, fond of Woe, in gloomy Lab'rinths rove?
80
V
Is dire Despair so pleasing to the Mind?Dost thou rejoice in sullen Shades of Night?
Or is it just thou should'st afflict thy Friend?
And is thy Flesh no more thy Favourite?
VI
Fly to thy God, who can redress thy Pain,Take off thy Burden, and dispel thy Fears.
Why dully passive do'st thou thus complain,
Since he can help, who mercifully hears?
VII
He has engag'd his everlasting TruthIn favour of dejected Souls, that fly
To him in trouble.—Can'st thou trust his Oath?
Is he no Friend to Men in Misery?
81
VIII
Hope in his Name will cure thy wretched Woe,Compose thy Grief, and silence thine Alarms:
His Strength's almighty, and engaged too
For those that shelter in his friendly Arms.
IX
When fix'd thou art on this immortal Rock,From Persecution and Distress secure,
Thou may'st exult, nor fear Affliction's Shock,
Or roaring Lion's Efforts to devour.
82
Psalm xciv. Verse 19.
In the Multitude of my Thoughts within me, thy Comforts, O God, delight my Soul.
I
When Hell and Earth in one combin'd,With Pow'r and Terrors vex my Soul,
When Fears and Sorrows load my Mind,
And anxious Cares my Peace controll:
II
When puzling Doubts invade my Breast,And I am cloath'd in Shades of Night.
When Guile and Snares my Spirits waste,
Engross my Thoughts, and vent their Spite:
83
III
When outward Fightings, inward Pain,Dangers arise on ev'ry Side,
My Friends turn Foes, and I complain,
That none exists I can confide:
IV
When Melancholy fills my Heart,The best good Men from Earth decay,
Death stabs me in my tender Part,
And all my Pleasures pass away;
V
The Thoughts of Thee, my God, createA little Heav'n in midst of Hell;
They sweeten Gall, and soften Fate,
And all the Shades of Death dispell.
84
VI
Thy Comforts shine thro' sullen Clouds,They sooth my Suff'rings cure my Woe,
Bear up my Head above the Floods,
And gild the Paths in which I go.
VII
Tempests and Storms at Thoughts of Thee,Are hush'd in haste; the Billows cease,
My Hope revives, and nought I see
But Scenes of Joy and Days of Peace.
85
The LARK.
A Soliloquy.
I
Observe, my Muse, yon charmingCreature,
The tuneful Lark, inspir'd by Nature;
How in the lowly silent Fields
Her little Nest,
So finely drest,
And not in lofty Boughs she builds.
Yet when the Morn appears serene
She leaves her humble Seat,
Soars up the Regions of the Air unseen,
And charms Mankind with Musick soft and sweet.
86
She dwelt below, and made so mean a Choice.
II.
The heav'nly Bird, thy fellow Bard,As thy Example, Muse, regard;
Content thy self upon the humble Ground,
And never grudge their Happiness
That lodge in Towns and Palaces,
Which gaily glare around.
In humble Huts and rural Bow'rs,
Amongst the honest Swains,
Consume thy pleasurable Hours,
Devoid of Care and Pains.
Let never proud Ambition cheat thy Mind,
Nor court the Things which Nature ne'er design'd:
87
Well pleased with thy State,
On just Occasions sometimes fly,
And show you can be Great.
III.
And thou, my Soul, with Little blest,Secure and in a close Retreat,
By Wit and Virtue render'd sweet,
Enjoy a pleasing Rest.
In Solitude retir'd from Noise,
As on a Bay, behold below,
And pity those who grasp at Joys,
Or please themselves with shining Toys
That soon to Ruin go.
Employ thy self on a sublimer Theme,
And, in thy lov'd Obscurity,
Ne'er grasp at Honour, Glory, and a Fame;
Nor court the World to keep alive your Name.
88
And, like the Lark, from thine obscure Abode,
When Death shall ease you of your mortal Load,
Transcend the chrystal Sky,
And there enjoy at once thy Brother and thy God.
The WOES of LIFE.
In Blank Verse.
The Woes of Life my Muse, in proper Strains,
Attempts to sing; but who can fully shew
Their various Kinds, and reckon up the Sum?
Since the first Man an easy Conquest fell,
By Disobedience, to malicious Pow'rs,
None is exempt in any Stage of Life
From various Troubles and afflicting Woes.
Embark'd in Sorrows from the Infant Birth,
Poor we roul on, and stem the rapid Floods,
'Till Lethe's Gulph, ah deadful Gulph to some!
Or cures for ever, or enhanses Pain.
The Mind, unite to mortal Flesh, deplores
The fatal Miseries destin'd to be born,
But suffers on without the least Redress,
As wretched Slaves in Gallies toil incessant.
If short Respite the Series of Grief
For a few Minutes interrupts, again
The Pangs of Sorrow, with the greater Force,
Return, and crown the Miseries of Life.
One Woe, when past, is by another urg'd,
And follows close where'er we take our Flight.
As Sisiphus with an eternal Toil
The bulky Stone roll'd up the Mountain's Brow,
While always downward to the mighty Center
The Weight inclin'd, and still renew'd his Pain.
Attempts to sing; but who can fully shew
Their various Kinds, and reckon up the Sum?
Since the first Man an easy Conquest fell,
By Disobedience, to malicious Pow'rs,
None is exempt in any Stage of Life
89
Embark'd in Sorrows from the Infant Birth,
Poor we roul on, and stem the rapid Floods,
'Till Lethe's Gulph, ah deadful Gulph to some!
Or cures for ever, or enhanses Pain.
The Mind, unite to mortal Flesh, deplores
The fatal Miseries destin'd to be born,
But suffers on without the least Redress,
As wretched Slaves in Gallies toil incessant.
If short Respite the Series of Grief
For a few Minutes interrupts, again
The Pangs of Sorrow, with the greater Force,
Return, and crown the Miseries of Life.
One Woe, when past, is by another urg'd,
And follows close where'er we take our Flight.
As Sisiphus with an eternal Toil
The bulky Stone roll'd up the Mountain's Brow,
While always downward to the mighty Center
The Weight inclin'd, and still renew'd his Pain.
90
Good Heav'ns! What Ills are Mortals doom'd to bear?
Stone, Gout and Cholick, Fevers, Fire and Sword,
And all th' inseparable Train of Grief,
In various Kinds attend our Steps for ever,
Oppos'd by all the healing Hands in vain.
A thousand Racks in dire Vicissitude
Torment, but keep in sad Suspence, the Life.
Bruises and Bones disjointed, and the Limbs
Broke thro' by Labour, or unlucky Chance,
The Sinews strain'd, and ulcerous Sores oppress,
And gall the Body, while the wretched Mind
In Sympathy endures corroding Woe.
Misfortunes on Misfortunes, like the Waves,
Swell o'er our Heads, and dash us down in Sorrow.
They hang, like Winter, on our youthful Hope,
And blast the Spring and Promise of our Age;
While hoary Hairs, a Burden by themselves,
Are join'd with all that can impair the Vigour,
And end the Days of momentary Life.
Oft Wounds from foreign Violence we feel,
And fall in Snares by hellish Art contriv'd.
Now Foes attack for privily disguise
Their secret Mance till a fitter Time;
And then with Interest on our Names, or Persons,
The sad Arrears of their suspended Rage
Are paid, while we in vain implore for Mercy.
Now Friends turn faithless, and betray our Cause,
Which aggravates our cutting Pains within:
Then poison'd Arrows of malicious Tongues,
And sly Insinuations to our Hurt,
Improve our Errors, and our Virtues wrong.
Our Goods are ruffled, and our Fame despoil'd,
By sad Oppressors, and misguided Zeal;
Or Property by arbitrary Powe'rs
Is rob'd, while we in vain for a Redress,
With earnest Cries, and mournful Moan, implore.
Troops of Misfortunes, in a smart Career,
Or by slow Pace, protract the narrow Span,
While to the Grave we for Deliv'rance cry,
But cry in vain to the relentless Fates.
Myriads of Ills assault us from without,
Complete our Misery, and o'erturn the Patience;
Yet native Woes that lodge within our Breast
Are of all Pains most dangerous and sore.
We noxious Insects in our Bowels feed,
And our own Tyrants too much entertain.
The Spleen with sullen Vapors binds the Spirits,
Obscures the Brain, and causes Woe sincere,
Howe'er Fantastick be the fatal Cause.
High Passions bluster in the Mind, like Winds;
Mistrust, Suspicion, Discord, Anger, Hate,
Mis-tune the Soul with Fury turbulent.
The Will is stubborn, the Affections carnal,
The Understanding clouded, and subdued
By ruling Appetite of Sense, which now
Usurps o'er sov'reign Reason, and commands
The whole of us with uncontrolled Sway.
Sometimes we headlong, by our Passions led,
In thousand Snares and sad Disasters fall.
Sometimes they struggle in our Breasts, and kindle
A very Wildfire, and create a Broil
Or Civil War, harassing all the Soul.
Thus tortur'd we from Place to Place repair;
From Side to Side in vain for Rest we turn:
Of Night impatient we demand the Day:
The Day once come, we long for dusky Night:
All things in order happen, but Relief
From our Distraction and tormenting Woes.
The Heav'n and Earth resound with Cries and Murmurs
Of ev'ry Age, and Quality, and Sex.
From first to last our Life's a wretched Scene
Of various Sorrows and tormenting Pain.
Stone, Gout and Cholick, Fevers, Fire and Sword,
And all th' inseparable Train of Grief,
In various Kinds attend our Steps for ever,
Oppos'd by all the healing Hands in vain.
A thousand Racks in dire Vicissitude
Torment, but keep in sad Suspence, the Life.
Bruises and Bones disjointed, and the Limbs
Broke thro' by Labour, or unlucky Chance,
The Sinews strain'd, and ulcerous Sores oppress,
And gall the Body, while the wretched Mind
In Sympathy endures corroding Woe.
Misfortunes on Misfortunes, like the Waves,
Swell o'er our Heads, and dash us down in Sorrow.
91
And blast the Spring and Promise of our Age;
While hoary Hairs, a Burden by themselves,
Are join'd with all that can impair the Vigour,
And end the Days of momentary Life.
Oft Wounds from foreign Violence we feel,
And fall in Snares by hellish Art contriv'd.
Now Foes attack for privily disguise
Their secret Mance till a fitter Time;
And then with Interest on our Names, or Persons,
The sad Arrears of their suspended Rage
Are paid, while we in vain implore for Mercy.
Now Friends turn faithless, and betray our Cause,
Which aggravates our cutting Pains within:
Then poison'd Arrows of malicious Tongues,
And sly Insinuations to our Hurt,
Improve our Errors, and our Virtues wrong.
92
By sad Oppressors, and misguided Zeal;
Or Property by arbitrary Powe'rs
Is rob'd, while we in vain for a Redress,
With earnest Cries, and mournful Moan, implore.
Troops of Misfortunes, in a smart Career,
Or by slow Pace, protract the narrow Span,
While to the Grave we for Deliv'rance cry,
But cry in vain to the relentless Fates.
Myriads of Ills assault us from without,
Complete our Misery, and o'erturn the Patience;
Yet native Woes that lodge within our Breast
Are of all Pains most dangerous and sore.
We noxious Insects in our Bowels feed,
And our own Tyrants too much entertain.
The Spleen with sullen Vapors binds the Spirits,
Obscures the Brain, and causes Woe sincere,
Howe'er Fantastick be the fatal Cause.
93
Mistrust, Suspicion, Discord, Anger, Hate,
Mis-tune the Soul with Fury turbulent.
The Will is stubborn, the Affections carnal,
The Understanding clouded, and subdued
By ruling Appetite of Sense, which now
Usurps o'er sov'reign Reason, and commands
The whole of us with uncontrolled Sway.
Sometimes we headlong, by our Passions led,
In thousand Snares and sad Disasters fall.
Sometimes they struggle in our Breasts, and kindle
A very Wildfire, and create a Broil
Or Civil War, harassing all the Soul.
Thus tortur'd we from Place to Place repair;
From Side to Side in vain for Rest we turn:
Of Night impatient we demand the Day:
The Day once come, we long for dusky Night:
All things in order happen, but Relief
94
The Heav'n and Earth resound with Cries and Murmurs
Of ev'ry Age, and Quality, and Sex.
From first to last our Life's a wretched Scene
Of various Sorrows and tormenting Pain.
The Panting Soul.
I
When, O my God, my Soul surveysThe Wonders of thy Grace,
And glimpses the celestial Rays
Of thy refulgent Face,
Transported to an Ectasy
Of Gratitude and Love,
I spurn the Bliss beneath the Sky,
And pant for Joys above.
95
II
The World and its Delights are vain,Ev'n Riches sudden fly;
Our Pleasures are allay'd with Pain,
And in th' Enjoyment dye.
The only solid Peace below
Is spiritual and refin'd;
In heav'nly Channels all doth flow,
That satisfies the Mind.
III
If Faith at distant Views can raiseThe Soul a rapt'rous Height;
From Pisgah's Top to Canaan gaze,
With Wonder and Delight:
What Glories do the Saints explore,
On the Empyreal Plains,
Where Angels round the Throne adore,
And try celestial Strains?
96
IV
Were thou, my Soul, amidst the ThrongOf Spirits blest above,
How would'st thou raise thy Heav'nly Song,
Inspir'd by purer Love;
When fix'd in the Eternal View
Of thy Redeemer's Rays,
Which then, unveil'd, to thee shall shew
His Smiles without allays?
V
Could I behold his radiant Face,And see his Heav'nly Court,
I'd welcome Death with fond Embrace,
And wish my Life was short:
Beneath the Load of Flesh I'd groan,
And bless the friendly Hand,
That knocks my Tabernacle down,
And hastes me to the Land.
97
VI
Oh how I pant to see the DawnOf that expected Day!
Ah, Time, thy Chariot's Wheels are drawn
Too slowly! Fly away.
My Soul aspires to purer Food
Than it can share below;
I grasp at an immortal Good,
Where Joys unmixed flow.
An Epistle to Major PACK.
Occasioned by his Translating the select Elegies of Catullus, Tibullus, &c.
While others with unwearied Toil provide
T'indulge our Avarice, and inflame our Pride,
With all the splendid Labours of the East,
And sparkling Juice delicious to the Taste;
With wiser Thoughts inspired, you explore
Neglected foreign Learning o'er and o'er,
And what is useful and refin'd of it,
To serve your Country prosperously transmit.
A pleasing Work, tho' not devoid of Pain,
To raise the Spirit of the Dead again;
And make the Labours of your generous Muse
At once exalt your Fame, and be of publick Use!
T'indulge our Avarice, and inflame our Pride,
98
And sparkling Juice delicious to the Taste;
With wiser Thoughts inspired, you explore
Neglected foreign Learning o'er and o'er,
And what is useful and refin'd of it,
To serve your Country prosperously transmit.
A pleasing Work, tho' not devoid of Pain,
To raise the Spirit of the Dead again;
And make the Labours of your generous Muse
At once exalt your Fame, and be of publick Use!
Our
British Bards have often try'd to save
Your darling Authors from the pow'rful Grave;
Yet all Attempts have fail'd of wish'd Success,
'Till you reviv'd them in an English Dress.
Their Beauties suffer'd when aspiring Pens,
With little Art and real Excellence,
Presum'd to bring them over to our Isle;
To shew us Wit, and yet our Hopes beguile.
You all these former Injuries atone,
And give them Charms and Spirit brighter than their own.
Your darling Authors from the pow'rful Grave;
Yet all Attempts have fail'd of wish'd Success,
'Till you reviv'd them in an English Dress.
Their Beauties suffer'd when aspiring Pens,
With little Art and real Excellence,
99
To shew us Wit, and yet our Hopes beguile.
You all these former Injuries atone,
And give them Charms and Spirit brighter than their own.
Who but a Youth, with glowing Warmth possess'd,
Could have so well Catullus' Sense express'd?
Experience is a requisite to tell,
What he compos'd, and you translate so well,
If from his Urn Tibullus could arise.
He'd look at once with Pleasure and Surprize;
And frankly own you cast a Light on all
The shining Beauties of th' Original.
Could have so well Catullus' Sense express'd?
Experience is a requisite to tell,
What he compos'd, and you translate so well,
If from his Urn Tibullus could arise.
He'd look at once with Pleasure and Surprize;
And frankly own you cast a Light on all
The shining Beauties of th' Original.
Oh how I'm charm'd to see a noble Mind,
Dauntless in War, in time of Peace refin'd!
All like a Lion then, and now like Virgins kind.
Go on, brave Major, may your Life be long,
That we may share the Blessings of your Song!
By Sword and Pen in proper Seasons show,
Both Kinds of Laurel should adorn your Brow:
While I your Northern Friend, in humble Verse,
A Brother's Fate, and my own Pains rehearse.
Dauntless in War, in time of Peace refin'd!
All like a Lion then, and now like Virgins kind.
100
That we may share the Blessings of your Song!
By Sword and Pen in proper Seasons show,
Both Kinds of Laurel should adorn your Brow:
While I your Northern Friend, in humble Verse,
A Brother's Fate, and my own Pains rehearse.
Of MUSICK.
To a Young Lady.
I
When I am sunk in mournful Cares,Thy Music, Celia, has the Pow'r
To exalt me in enliv'ning Airs
And all my Melancholy cure.
101
II
Your Notes upon the Trembling String,My Griefs to perfect Joy can charm:
Your Voice, whene'er you deign to sing,
Can Fates severest Rage disarm.
III
But soon as I your Presence leave,And hear no more the quick'ning Sounds,
My former Pains I soon conceive
Return'd with aggravating Wounds.
IV
Thus when sweet Orpheus touched the Lyre,A Heav'n was form'd in midst of Hell;
Tormented Ghosts in haste respire,
And Furies pleas'd their Mansion well.
102
V
But when the Master left the Coast,The Flash of Joy expir'd again:
The short-liv'd Heav'n was quickly lost
In endless Night and dreadful Pain.
To FORTUNE.
I
Capricious Fortune, play thy Game;Assault my Mind, my State and Fame,
Or strive to raise my Circumstances high:
In spite of thee I'll rest secure,
Despite thy Bounty, scorn thy Pow'r,
While wrap'd in Virtue unconcern'd I lie.
II
If Thou shalt seek my humble Seat,And shed thy Treasure at my Feet,
103
Yet never trust thy fickle Hand,
Or reckon I unmoved stand,
Upon a Throne that's rear'd by such as you.
III
If humorous, Thou take awayThe Gifts bestow'd the former Day,
I can with ease thy glitt'ring Toys resign.
Why should I feel an inward Pain,
When I return thy own again?
Virtue's sufficient Store, and that's not thine.
IV
Thou hast of late my Virtue prov'd,By taking from me what I lov'd;
A Friend and Brother, dearer far than Life.
Perhaps at such a Stroke thou smil'd,
And joy'd to see my Virtues yield;
But now I'll shew thee a more generous Strife.
104
V
Altho' thy Darts without be thrown,And hurt me too, I'll gain Renown
By ruling well the Passions of my Soul:
When all within is calm and clear,
In vain thou tries to be severe.
Philosophy 's a Guard you can't controul.
The End of the First Part.
| Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) | |